


Red Flags

by Sed



Series: Revelation [4]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:56:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5845915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sed/pseuds/Sed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Still coming to terms with the news she received on Cardassia, Kira is wrapped up in the preparations for Captain Sisko's return to duty, and the complications brought on by visiting dignitaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is it, the big conclusion! I'll try to post a chapter more frequently than my normal once a week for this one.
> 
> The [timeline](http://electricsed.tumblr.com/post/133472686698/ive-created-a-basic-timeline-for-my-ds9-fic) for this series has been updated accordingly.

Kira stood on the upper level of the Promenade, watching the crew of workmen below as they made their way between the doorways and around each staircase, adorning every available surface in red and gold garlands. The gold shimmered with the countless sequins that had been painstakingly sewn to the cloth by a dedicated host of faithful volunteers, and the red was a deep, velvety scarlet. Vedek Lanta monitored them all the way, trailing behind and anxiously inspecting their efforts. Every so often he would readjust something while no one was looking. Whenever one of the workmen caught him, they would all stop to argue over the details until one side or the other backed down. So far it had taken them three hours to cover a stretch of the Promenade that couldn’t have been more than twenty meters.  
  
It was a bit much, even for the Emissary of the Prophets. But no one could tell the Bajorans aboard the station not to mark the captain’s return to duty with the biggest festival they could manage in the short time they’d been given. Possibly in an effort to prevent exactly what was happening, Captain Sisko had asked that his return be kept as quiet as possible. Of course, the news spread like wildfire regardless, and in less than a week it had evolved into an impromptu holiday, complete with visiting dignitaries and celebrations to put the Gratitude Festival to shame. Now they were only a few days from his arrival, and it seemed as though there was nothing too grand anymore.  
   
Ezri joined Kira on the walkway that connected the inner and outer span of the Promenade. She watched silently for a few minutes, and then scrunched her face and said, “I don’t think the captain is expecting _quite_ this level of celebration.”  
   
“Probably not,” Kira said. “But it makes everyone else happy.”  
  
“You’re telling me. According to Worf, Martok is bringing enough bloodwine to fill a whole cargo hold. I’m pretty sure he mentioned gagh, too.” She placed a hand on her stomach and made a sick face.  
  
“Shakaar said the Kai practically cleared out the spring wine reserves in the capital. Quark was furious when he found out there wouldn’t be a need for a caterer at the captain’s party.”  
  
“Well,” Ezri sighed melodramatically, “at least we know how he feels about it.” She gently cleared her throat and, with a too-obvious lilt to her voice, added, “It’s good to get things like that out in the open. You know, clear the air when something is bothering you.”  
   
Kira could see Ezri watching her expectantly from the corner of her eye. “If you’re going to ask me how I’m feeling…” she began, but Ezri waved a hand to cut her off.  
   
“No, definitely not. I promised I wouldn’t ask that anymore. But… if you _do_ want to talk about it…”  
   
Kira turned to her with a weary sigh. “If I wanted to talk about it,” she said slowly, “I _would have_.”  
   
“It’s been eight months. Don’t you think you should at least—”  
   
“Can’t we just watch them decorate the Promenade and enjoy ourselves?” Kira interrupted. She pointed to where the workers and Lanta were engaged in a furious debate with Quark, who was attempting to keep them from hanging a wreath over the lower entrance to his bar.  
   
Ezri frowned. “While it is rather amusing to watch Vedek Lanta work himself into a fit over banners, I’m more concerned about my _friend_ , and the very real problems she is trying to ignore. It’s not good to bury these things, you know, they won’t stay down there forever.”  
   
“Well, when they resurface, I’ll come see you.”  
   
“She’s your sister—”  
   
“ _No,_ ” Kira snapped, well aware that she was lashing out perhaps a bit more aggressively than was necessary. Ezri backed up a step, and Kira swallowed back the apology that buoyed up in response. “My mother had a child, but that doesn’t make Nelara my family,” she said more calmly. The defense came so naturally now, it was almost a comfort to keep reminding herself that she could simply deny the lie that threatened to destroy her. It had no power as long as she refused it.  
   
“Saying that doesn’t make it true.”  
  
“You of all people should understand why I want to distance myself from any association with Dukat,” Kira said. She regretted the words almost the instant they were spoken.  
   
Ezri looked down at the ground and her hand tightened on the railing beside her. “That was really unkind,” she said quietly.  
   
Kira closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m so sorry. Ezri, I—”  
  
“I understand. I do,” Ezri reassured her when that didn’t seem to be enough. “I just wish you would talk to _someone_ about it. Even... if it’s not me,” she said, with absolutely no effort to be subtle.  
   
That was the _other_ issue Kira didn’t want to discuss. She had done an excellent job of distancing herself from what turned out to be a surprisingly painful choice made in the name of self-preservation, which of course made it feel as though it hadn’t done any good at all, in the end. _Combining the two_ certainly would not make them better.  
   
Almost as if she knew what Kira was thinking, Ezri said, “Sometimes opening up one wound can help with healing another.”  
   
“I think Julian would argue with that diagnosis,” Kira mumbled. More clearly, she continued, “And anyway, there is no wound to mend, believe me. It was a clean break, and it’s over. Even if...” Even if it still haunted her. She shook her head. “Let’s talk about something else.” To underscore the decision, she clapped her hands together and gestured to the scene below. “Look what we’re missing.”  
   
Ezri seemed disappointed; her shoulders slumped and her worried frown deepened, but she turned back to the turmoil on the lower level anyway. During their conversation the conflict had escalated, and now there were four Bajoran deputies involved. They had done little to quell the shouting, and it seemed as though the argument might evolve into an outright brawl—at least until Ilpal showed up. In the time it took to blink, Quark had disappeared back inside his bar, leaving two of his waiters to take the fall when Ilpal started handing out time in the holding cells to let everyone cool off. Not even Vedek Lanta was spared.  
   
“Aren’t you going to say something?” Ezri asked as they watched a deputy escort Lanta to the Security Office.  
  
Kira shrugged. “They might actually get some work done without him around for a few hours,” she said.  
  
   
   
*  
   
   
   
“She thinks she can just ignore it all, and pretend it doesn’t exist until it goes away. But it won’t go away,” Ezri complained to Julian. “It’s not good for her to do this to herself.” She was lying in bed beside him, tucked under one of his arms while he read the book Garak had sent him.  
  
Julian pulled her closer and idly toyed with the shoulder strap of her nightgown while he thought about the problem. Ultimately he had nothing to contribute, as his own experiences with Kira had taught him that she was frequently intractable at the best of times, and downright impossible when she dug her heels in, which she had clearly done. But he knew Ezri wouldn’t accept that; she was determined to resolve the situation, not only because it was her duty, but because she was genuinely worried for Kira’s wellbeing. Only Kira couldn’t be handled the way Ezri was accustomed to dealing with her other patients. Even Garak had been more forthcoming with his feelings. “It’s her method of handling things,” he said, trying to find some way to explain it kindly. He would have thought that her memory’s of Jadzia’s attempts to change Kira might have served as experience enough to forestall another futile attempt. “You know that. If she can’t force the issue to submit to what _she_ feels is the way it should affect her, she will avoid it. You’ve seen her do it numerous times before.”  
  
“That’s not all she does. Sometimes she prays.”  
  
“Mm,” Julian hummed in agreement. “Although, come to think of it, I can’t remember the last time she attended services. Usually I see her in the crowd coming out of the shrine.”  
  
Ezri leaned up on her elbow. “She hasn’t been in months. That’s what I’m talking about, she’s not handling this well at all. She just keeps everything to herself. And I’m sure she thinks no one else notices, but we all have. Even someone like _Quark_ could see it—if she ever went there anymore. Julian, she really needs our help.”  
  
“She has experienced quite a lot in the past few months.”  
  
“ _Eight_ months,” Ezri reminded him. “And she refuses to talk about any of it.”  
  
“Well, you certainly can’t force her to. I’m not suggesting you’re wrong, by any means,” Julian rushed to add when Ezri’s scowl deepened. “I’m only pointing out that this is Kira we’re talking about. She has spent a lifetime expertly constructing very necessary defenses against every possible harm that could threaten her. Healthy or not, rational and _right_ or not, it is her way. She will open up when she’s ready—if she is ever ready.”  
  
Ezri settled back down beside him, and Julian resumed his idle examination of her shoulder with his fingertips. She breathed an exasperated sigh against his chest. “I just want her to be happy,” she said quietly.  
  
Julian leaned over to kiss the top of her head. “We all do. But I think perhaps it’s time we admit we may not be able to make that happen.”  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Kira was supposed to be in bed. Her body was impatiently reminding her that she was at least an hour past when she had promised herself she would be asleep. After a week spent attending to every detail of the captain’s return, preparing for yet another major transition in station management, she was beyond exhausted. She ached to stretch out and slip into the welcoming arms of sleep, and the escape it provided from everything that plagued her waking mind.  
  
But instead of that, she was sitting in the captain’s office, listening to Admiral Ross recite the seemingly endless list of concerns over Captain Sisko’s imminent return. With all the fanfare coming from what felt like every corner of the Alpha Quadrant, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he decided to simply cancel the whole thing and stay on Bajor. At least it was quiet there.  
  
_“And the thirty-third line item in Rear Admiral Uran’s proposal from the diplomatic corps. includes a stipulation that the Klingon Chancellor be—”_  
  
“Admiral,” Kira rushed to interrupt. She couldn’t take another minute of his rambling monotone. There was no way he didn’t find this kind of bureaucracy just as dull as she did. “I’m sure you must be tired. Why don’t you just send this to me, and I’ll go over it with our p—”  
  
_“Nonsense, I’m wide awake.”_  
  
Kira nearly collapsed on the desk. “Admiral, _I_ am tired,” she said, suddenly too frustrated to worry about offending her benefactor. “I promise you that I will give this every _possible_ ounce of my attention first thing in the morning.”  
  
Ross let the data padd in his hand tip toward the desk. _“What time is it there?”_  
  
“Very late,” Kira said tightly.  
  
_“I see. I suppose you’re right, we can continue in the morning. But we still have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow, Colonel.”_ He paused and smiled at her. _“Chin up; you’ll get to step back and get some real rest soon.”_  
  
_Not soon enough,_ she thought. “I’m looking forward to it, Admiral.”  
  
_“I’m sure you are. Goodnight, Colonel.”_  
  
  
  
  
When Kira finally relaxed in her bed, it was with a long groan of relief, and a stretch so satisfying it left her muscles singing in joy. She pulled the blankets around herself and nestled her head against the pillow.  
  
And then she stared at the wall.  
  
Thoughts jockeyed for priority in her mind, driving her building anxiety until she had tossed and turned so many times that her blankets became twisted around her body like a serpent. Doubts and anger, fear that she had made the wrong call—even though it hadn’t been hers at all, in the end. She had been spared the worst of the guilt, but she hadn’t escaped completely unscathed. Pain made her clutch at ridiculous thoughts in the darkness.  
  
“ _You’re an idiot,_ ” she whispered to herself.  
  
It was a familiar urge; the tug at her chest that told her to get up, get out of the bed, and open up a channel to Cardassia. She had grown accustomed to it, and even to the sudden snap of reality that wiped away the desire like dry sand: the jarring reminder of her mother and Dukat together, their hollow happiness, and how it tainted her own feelings.  
  
Despite her best efforts, it seemed Dukat had finally succeeded in his endless efforts to forcibly insert himself into her life. Her waking moments were filled with rage and loathing, and at night she struggled to sleep without images of Nelara’s face haunting her every time she closed her eyes. Which features had come from her mother, she wondered, and which had been Dukat’s? Was she only imagining that Nelara had their mother’s eyes, or was that just her mind playing tricks?  
  
It had been enough that her father lied for Meru; that he had lived a lie for the sake of his children, knowing the horrible truth and hiding it away until the day he died. Kira couldn’t imagine what it would have done to him to know that his beloved wife had given Dukat a child.  
  
Kira squeezed her eyes shut and tried to force the thought away.  
  
The problem was that she had nothing to replace it with. What she wanted to reach for was just as bad as what lay behind her. It hurt almost as much, and at times that pain actually felt more acute than the endless ache that stalked her the rest of the time. It would have been so much easier if she had never come to feel anything at all. If the place she wanted to go to escape her pain wasn’t so upsetting itself, and if it wasn’t tainted by the cause of all her misery through no fault of any but the dead, who couldn’t even answer for their crimes.  
  
  
  
  
The morning of Captain Sisko’s return was satisfyingly standard, as far as station operations were concerned. Kira had already cleared the office in Ops of her own belongings—a move she was more than happy to make—and promised Ensign Ross that she would see to it the captain didn’t reassign him back to cargo bay duty. Packing away the few objects that had followed her to her position felt satisfying, in a way. Like wiping away everything that had happened since the end of the war, and giving her a chance to start over. If only her distracted mind would allow her to take it.  
  
Ezri was waiting for her when she exited the turbolift. “Need a hand?” she asked.  
  
“It’s not as much as I thought it would be. I guess it looked like more when it was spread out.”  
  
“When I brought my things over from the _Destiny_ , I was worried I wouldn’t be able to fit everything into my new quarters here on the station. As it turned out, I had room to spare,” Ezri said. She lifted herself onto her toes and peered into the box. “Anything interesting?”  
  
“Nothing you haven’t seen already. No scandalous secrets,” Kira teased.  
  
“I can hope. You’re headed back to your quarters?”  
  
Kira nodded. “The Kai is arriving soon, and I haven’t had a chance to change yet.” She was going to be in her dress uniform for the rest of the day, anyway. There was no reason not to get it out of the way early.  
  
“I thought he’d be traveling with First Minister Shakaar?” Ezri asked, tilting her head slightly.  
  
“Shakaar is attending the _other_ celebration they’re holding for the captain, on Bajor. He’ll be arriving later. And I think the chancellor’s ship is due to arrive before his. Apparently they’re starting the party early.” It had taken more effort to keep track of all the different arrival times than it had to plan the celebration in the first place. Kira was starting to understand the captain’s desire to keep things low key.  
  
“Ah,” Ezri nodded. “It’s a shame we couldn’t get everyone here. Make it a real reunion.”  
  
“Ezri.”  
  
“I only meant Rom!” she said in a rush. She put her hands up and smiled innocently. “I promise.”  
  
But that was enough chatter for Kira; she gave Ezri a patient frown and headed off down the corridor after a brief goodbye. The box in her hands was starting to feel heavier the longer she held it, and her arms were aching by the time she made it to her quarters and set it on the couch. She promised herself she would move it again before she left, but some part of her knew that wasn’t true. Apart from the duties that demanded her attention, she had barely touched anything in her quarters for months. Clothes lay draped over furniture; a series of cups had been stashed in different places around the room, having never made it back to the replicator; padds were piled up on the table; and a large pile of blankets took up one half of the couch, where she had taken to sleeping far more often than she made it to the bed.  
  
In the middle of surveying the state of her quarters—and her life—and changing into her pale blue dress uniform, the comm interrupted to inform her that the Kai’s ship had arrived. It was roughly twenty minutes ahead of schedule. “I’ll be right there,” she said, slipping on her boots. With a long sigh she marched back out of the room and headed for the Docking Ring.  
  
It was going to be a _very_ long day.  
  
  
  
  
Admiral Ross laughed and placed a friendly arm on Worf’s shoulder, then hastily withdrew it when Worf eyed him with a firm stare. Kira tried not to snicker into her drink as she watched Ross search for a reason to excuse himself from the ambassador’s company.  
  
“All this for one Starfleet officer,” she heard Quark say over her shoulder. He stepped up beside her and shook his head. “You’d think Bajor was joining the Federation today.”  
  
“It’s going to be the first time a lot of these people have seen the captain since he left the station in a runabout two years ago, Quark.” She turned and eyed him up and down; he was wearing a brand new suit, and everything that could be polished was shining like gold-pressed latinum. “I’m sure you dressed up just to come here and complain, right?”  
  
“He was a decent customer. Still, I’m surprised they didn’t get the _Romulans_ involved in this. Why not? Everyone else is here.”  
  
“Not everyone,” Kira muttered. She took another sip of her drink and frowned. The wine had lost its chill already.  
  
Unsurprisingly, Quark, with his years of experience reading the needs of his patrons, understood immediately what the problem was—at least the more obvious one. “Well what’d you expect? You’ve been nursing that glass since you got here.” He took the drink from her hand and set it on the table behind them. “I’ll get you another.”  
  
“You’re not on the clock, you know,” she said.  
  
“Leave it to you to turn courtesy into conniving. I’m only trying to be nice.” He disappeared into the small crowd and returned carrying a fresh glass of spring wine.  
  
Kira scoffed. She took the drink and lifted it toward him. “To _nice,_ ” she said.  
  
Quark raised his own glass and grinned.  
  
_“Ops to Colonel Kira.”_  
  
Kira tapped her combadge. “Go ahead.”  
  
_“Kai Ajon has finished his sermon, and is requesting your presence on the Promenade. Also, the_ Defiant _has just checked in. They’ll be arriving within the hour.”_  
  
“I’m on my way now.” She returned her glass to Quark’s hand. “Duty calls.”  
  
“I guess this means you owe me a drink,” Quark called after her as she made her way to the door.  
  
“Don’t start, Quark,” she warned.  
  
Shakaar joined her on the way, followed by a small trail of vedeks all chattering like songbirds. They seemed beside themselves with excitement. Kira lowered her voice and asked, “Couldn’t you shake them?”  
  
“Are you kidding?” Shakaar whispered. “They’re not following me. If I stopped walking I’m pretty sure they would trample me and keep going without a second thought.”  
  
“We’d better be fast, then,” she chuckled.  
  
Shakaar smiled, and the two of them entered the turbolift together. When a few of the vedeks tried to join them he held out a hand and said, “Perhaps it’s best if you all go together? After all, it wouldn’t be proper for some of you to arrive before the others, would it?”  
  
While the vedeks considered that conundrum, Kira took the opportunity to direct the computer to take them to the Promenade. “That was terrible,” she said once they were alone. “Good work.”  
  
Shakaar spread his arms out wide to offer her a friendly embrace. “I’m so glad to see you again, Nerys,” he beamed. “I kept expecting to hear you were coming back to Bajor, but you stayed away.”  
  
Kira tried not to hesitate, pushing herself to accept the hug as easily as she might have before. When his arms closed around her shoulder she stiffened, but Shakaar didn’t seem to notice. She tried to remind herself that he didn’t know about her connection to Nelara—only a handful of people did, and most of those had known before she herself learned the truth. It had been unavoidable to reveal Nelara’s identity as a half-Bajoran during the extradition, but Kira made absolutely certain that the rest would remain a private matter. “I just wanted to get back to work,” she lied as she stepped away from the embrace as quickly as manners would allow. “It felt like the best way to clear my head after what happened.”  
  
Shakaar knew her better than that, but he also knew better than to poke holes in her explanation. “Of course,” he said. “But maybe now is the time to take some well-earned leave. With Captain Sisko returning to duty, I mean.”  
  
“Maybe. When everything has settled down.”  
  
The solitude of the turbolift quickly gave way to an excited roar as they stepped out onto the Promenade, and whatever else they might have discussed was quickly drowned in the rush of sound from the hundreds of expectant faithful packed into every square meter of available space. Both levels were completely filled, with everyone vying to get as close to where the Kai was standing as they could possibly manage. Kira spotted Ilpal standing next to him on the steps outside the shrine, with the Kai’s ranjen close beside her. When Ilpal caught sight of them she dispatched two of her deputies to clear the way. Even with their assistance it was next to impossible to make it through without stepping on several feet.  
  
Kai Ajon smiled benevolently as they joined him on the steps. “First Minister, Colonel.” He bowed his head slightly. “It’s a shame you weren’t able to join us earlier.”  
  
Kira and Shakaar returned the gesture respectfully. “Eminence,” Kira said. “I apologize, there’s just been so much work to do.”  
  
“Of course. I won’t ask for much of your time today.”  
  
Kira had been preparing for—and dreading—this moment since she first spoke to the Kai, the day after Captain Sisko informed them both that he was finally going to be returning to duty. The Kai had asked her to prepare a small speech, feeling that her close relationship with the captain made her the perfect candidate to address the faithful who had come to see him. To share what it meant to her, personally, that the Emissary was determined to see his mission through to the end, and guide Bajor into the Federation. She couldn’t exactly argue, and Kai Ajon, a kindly, middle-aged man who had an air of serenity about him that seemed to calm everyone he encountered, made it sound as if she would be doing _him_ a personal favor just by agreeing. It had proved impossible to turn him down.  
  
The problem was that at the moment, she didn’t feel particularly connected to anything, and the brief speech she had written the night before felt hollow, at best. “Yes,” she said, steeling herself for what was sure to be an extremely uncomfortable public address.  
  
She started to turn away from the Kai, toward the crowd, when her comm interrupted. _“Colonel Kira, I'm sorry to interrupt, but the_ Defiant _has arrived ahead of schedule. Admiral Ross is asking for you to join him at airlock twelve.”_  
  
Salvation had come in the form of an overeager helmsman. “I’ll be right there,” Kira said, a bit too happily, perhaps. When she turned back to apologize to Kai Ajon he was smiling again.  
  
“By all means,” he said, holding out his arm like a gate, opened to free her from her task. As Kira gratefully stepped away she heard him say to Shakaar, “I wonder if you would be willing to speak in her place, First Minister?”  
  
Kira tried to hide a smile as she disappeared back into the crowd. The Promenade had quieted somewhat since their arrival, but the low hum of anxious murmurs still provided a comforting static that kept her own intrusive thoughts at bay. Once she reached the turbolift she was unable to fend off the insistent demands of her mind, and the discomfort that felt like bile rising in her throat. The notion of returning to Bajor became a fear of facing the lies that threatened to undermine her life. A reminder of what had begun there that she once wished she could forget, and now wished to undo for completely different reasons.  
  
“Docking port twelve,” she snapped at the computer.  
  
She cursed and clenched her fists tight. It was supposed to have been a day to celebrate. She should have been _happy_. Instead she could only think of her own troubles, her own selfish pain. The guilt felt just as indulgent as the sadness, and only compounded the problem until she was angry at herself for thinking of anything at all.  
  
Ezri was waiting for her when she arrived. Kira stepped off the turbolift and inclined her head. “Is everything alright?” she asked. The Bajoran deputies standing to either side paid them no mind, and seemed wholly unperturbed by the day’s events. Front row seats to the Emissary’s return must have been well worth the long hours guarding a mostly empty stretch of the Docking Ring.  
  
“Oh, it’s fine,” Ezri said a bit breathlessly, and not as convincing as she probably intended to seem. “Ben’s this way. Obviously. Everyone else is already here. I mean, not _everyone_. Worf and Martok are still at the party...”  
  
Kira started walking, with Ezri rambling along beside her. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked. They were coming up on number twelve, and it seemed as though Ezri had something she was trying to say, but couldn’t quite put to words.  
  
“Well—how are you feeling? Right now. At this specific moment.”  
  
“Not this again...”  
  
“Humor me, please,” Ezri pleaded.  
  
Kira stopped and put her hands on her hips. She took a moment to think about it, and then she said, “I’m a little annoyed, to be honest. The captain is waiting for us.”  
  
Ezri nodded slowly. “Right. Annoyed. Well, I suppose it could be worse.” She remained rooted to the spot even when Kira started walking again. A good twenty paces had stretched between them before she hurried to catch up. “Just… try to stick with annoyed, I guess,” she said.  
  
Kira shook her head. They rounded the corner together and came upon the unofficial welcoming party that had gathered at the airlock to greet the captain. Julian was there, along with Admiral Ross, Nog, Quark (who had somehow managed to weasel his way past the other security checkpoint down the corridor), and— “Damar,” Kira said, stopping in her tracks.  
  
At the sound of his name, Damar looked up.


	2. Chapter 2

They kept to opposite ends of the party, moving around the room almost as though they had somehow coordinated their efforts to remain as far apart from one another as possible. Whenever Damar dared to glance in her direction he thought perhaps Kira had only just looked away herself, but that was only wishful thinking, he decided after some time. They had parted by necessity, for her sake, because Damar knew it was the only way he could help her. She may have believed him to be an idiot at times, but even he was capable of recognize when refusing to let go would only bring them both pain.

He stole another lingering glance; in eight months he had almost managed to forget how beautiful she was. Her auburn hair caught the light each time she moved, and even from across the room he could see the gentle lines at the corners of her eyes when she smiled. In self preservation he turned away, opting to stare at his drink, instead. It was a clear liquid tinted a faint amber color, with bubbles that stuck to the sides of the flute and rose from the bottom in countless tiny chains. During a brief conversation Bashir had informed him that it was a drink from Earth called _champagne_. The glasses had been passed around prior to Admiral Ross’ toast to Captain Sisko, and though he declined to drink any (primarily because it looked incredibly questionable), Damar had nevertheless taken a glass, if only to appear as though he was taking part in the festivity. His presence there was a mere formality—the result of unfortunate scheduling that brought him to Bajor the day before what turned out to be a planetwide celebration. It was Captain Sisko who had insisted he join them on the station for the party, and Damar was still far too wary of him to refuse.

He was engaged in watching the bubbles rising through his drink and stealing glances at Kira when Quark appeared at his side. Damar caught sight of his enormous orange head from the corner of his eye and sighed. “What do you want, Quark?”

“Just how long are you planning to stare at her?”

“Excuse me?”

Quark reached out and plucked the champagne flute from Damar’s hand. He set it on a small table, next to another glass of what appeared to be spring wine. “Well, that was a waste of perfectly good alcohol,” he muttered.

“That was mine.”

“Like you were going to drink it,” Quark snorted. “So?”

Damar narrowed his eyes. “So _what?_ ”

“Why don’t you go talk to her instead of moping around in the corner? It’s depressing. I could go sit by Worf if I wanted to watch someone imitate a statue for an hour.”

“It’s none of your business, Ferengi,” Damar sneered as he turned away.

“Really?” Quark slipped around his side, blocking his retreat. “You think that’s going to work? On me? I’m in the business of _making_ things my business.” He straightened himself up and lifted his chin. “Besides, things are changing fast these days, and you’re a big part of that. I’m just looking out for my own financial well being.”

“My personal life is not a forecast indicator for your _profits_ , Quark. Leave me alone.”

Quark suddenly dropped his avaricious pretext, and his smile turned into a flat line. “She’s not happy, you know,” he said. “Whatever happened between you two, it’s obvious it’s not really what she wanted.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” To the best of Damar’s knowledge, Quark was unaware of Nelara beyond the fact that she existed. He couldn’t possibly know what was really troubling Kira, and therefore his assumptions were inherently flawed. That was enough to dismiss his advice, however well-meaning, out of hand. “There is much more going on than you’re capable of seeing from behind the counter of your bar.”

That only made Quark laugh. He smiled, showing his many jagged, uneven teeth. “For a minute there I almost forgot I wasn’t talking to the old you. I have to admit, a part of me misses that surly, sour glinn you used to be. But then I remember the rest, and I come to my senses.” He leaned in close and whispered, “Maybe I _don’t_ know the whole story—yet—but I do know this: every time you look away, her eyes are on you. And it’s not anger I see there.” He stood back again and shook his head. “But you’re right,” he said with a shrug. “What do I know?”

 

*

 

Dax had been right: mixing bloodwine with _anything_ was a bad idea. Kira dropped down onto her couch and let her head hang between her shoulders while she willed the room to stop spinning. She realized then that she should have accepted Shakaar’s offer to walk her back to her quarters; getting as far as the bedroom would be a feat she wasn’t sure she could accomplish on her own, and changing for bed was completely out of the question.

A short nap on the couch would set her right, she decided. Toeing off one boot at a time, she settled back onto the soft, welcoming cushions—briefly stopping to move the box of objects she had taken with her when she left the captain’s office—and settled in for a short rest. “Lights,” sheslurred at the computer, which dutifully obeyed. The room went dark, and Kira followed shortly.

 

  
She woke to the sound of Captain Sisko's voice.

 _“Colonel,”_ he said. It felt like she had heard it several times before, but that was impossible. She had only just closed her eyes. _“Nerys? Are you there?”_

“Mm… I’m—Captain?” she asked. Her mouth felt like it was filled with sand, and her head still throbbed painfully. “I’m here.”

_“Colonel, did you forget about the meeting this morning?”_

“Morning?” She froze. Meeting? What meeting?

 _“It’s 1100 hours,”_ the captain said. _“You’re forty minutes late.”_

Kira jumped up from the couch, nearly pitching sideways in doing so. She steadied herself and gripped her head—her hair was all pushed to one side, and some of it had become tangled in her earring. A few strands were stuck to the corner of her mouth. “I’m sorry, I’ll—” she stumbled over her boots. “I’ll be right there!”

She could hear Sisko chuckling over the comm. _“Take your time,”_ he said. _“When you didn’t show, we decided to have lunch.”_

Kira stood up straight and blew a puff of air at some of the hair in her face. “We?”

 

  
After an evening spent staunchly avoiding any contact with Damar, finding herself sitting across from him in the conference room was more than a little awkward. Kira shifted in her seat and tried not to appear as uncomfortable as she felt. If Damar was having the same problem, he showed no sign of it. His face was a blank mask as he watched the captain sit down.

“I’ll get right to it,” Sisko said. He looked down the table at the two of them. “Starfleet Command is frustrated. Both with the lack of progress identifying and apprehending those responsible for the recent attacks on the Bajoran ships, _and_ the multiple assassination attempts that have taken place since you assumed control of the Cardassian government.”

“Believe me, they aren’t the only ones,” Damar muttered under his breath.

“Yes, I’m sure you’re just as tired of it as we are. You can’t even leave Cardassia Prime these days without everyone holding their breath. Since it was the Federation who supported your return to power and endorsed your administration, it seems only right that we should make every effort to see to it you’re safe. And,” Sisko said in that same low rumble that seemed to Kira a portent of dangerous things to come, “rid ourselves of what appears to be a very persistent, and _clever_ enemy.”

“It took some effort to convince my head of security that we should open our investigation to your people, but even he couldn’t deny the benefit of having Starfleet’s assistance with this matter. Frankly, we’ve reached the limit of what we can learn for ourselves in our current state. Our intelligence networks simply aren’t what they used to be.”

Kira was beginning to wonder why the captain insisted she be present for this conversation. It seemed as though everything had already been decided. Damar wasn’t resisting, and Bajor had already launched their own internal investigation following the incident earlier that year. What more could be done? She waited for a break in the conversation and added, “I’m sure my government will be more than willing to help however it can.”

“It’s funny you should say that,” Sisko said cryptically. He exchanged a quick glance with Damar, who frowned at the floor. “As it happens, I’ve already spoken to the Council of Ministers about this matter, and they think it’s a fine idea to push forward with a deeper investigation. They’ve cleared it with the Justice Ministry, and offered to make Kivet Nelara available for questioning at your earliest convenience.”

“My…? My earliest convenience?” Kira stammered. “Mine? Captain, I can’t talk to her.”

“I’m sure you’ll agree that the two of you are more familiar with the details of this situation than anyone else. I can’t think of anyone better to send to Bajor.”

She felt like someone had struck a gong in the center of her skull. When the buzzing subsided and she found her voice, Kira asked, “The _two of us_ , sir?”

“You,” Sisko said, gesturing to her with one hand, “two,” he finished with a similar gesture in Damar’s direction.

“I assure you, this wasn’t my idea,” Damar said quietly.

That didn’t make it any better at all. “I can’t go to Bajor.” _With him,_ her mind thoughtfully added to the end of the sentence.

“I’m not asking for a favor, Colonel. This is an order. You and Legate Damar will travel to Bajor, together, and interview Nelara to see if you can learn anything more than what little she revealed during her capture. Was any part of that unclear?” He stopped to wait for another objection. When none came, he smiled. “Good. You’ll have some company: Constable Ilpal will be joining you.”

“Won’t we be taking his security?” Kira chanced a quick glance at Damar from the corner of her eye. He was busy studying the surface of the table, and didn’t seem willing to object on her behalf, or his own.

“Bringing along the entire retinue might attract the wrong sort of attention. You’re just taking a quick trip to Bajor and back, and no one outside of this room knows about it apart from Ilpal. A runabout should be sufficient.”

Damar frowned. “If anything happens, I’ll never hear the end of it from Kren.”

“If anything happens,” Sisko said, “I doubt you’ll be alive to worry about what _Kren_ thinks. We need to act on this now, and cut these enemies of yours off before they’re able to launch a new offensive. Whoever they are, whatever their motivations may be, any attempt to destabilize Cardassia puts this entire region in jeopardy.”

Although it was satisfying in a macabre way to dwell on her own angst, Kira set aside her discomfort at the thought of nearly every aspect of her mission, and said, “Captain, I think it’s worth noting that Doctor Bashir believed this might have been a Dominion plot.”

“He mentioned it to me,” Sisko said. “And rest assured, we’ll be looking into that possibility. But for now, our best option is to get the information right from the source. Ilpal is waiting for you in the security office to go over the procedures for accessing the prison where Nelara is being held.”

“Is there anything else we should prepare for? Anything Starfleet is particularly interested in?” Kira asked.

“Ilpal has a list of suggestions offered by Starfleet Security. They stressed that you are not to answer anything _she_ asks you, or engage her in personal discussions of any nature. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly, sir,” she said with no small amount of relief.

As they were preparing to conclude the meeting, the conference room doors opened, admitting the doctor. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said. “I was told you wished to speak to me, Captain.”

“I did. Please, take a seat, Doctor. The Colonel and Legate Damar were just preparing to leave.” He inclined his head to Kira and Damar. “Good luck—both of you.”

 _I don’t think it’s luck we need,_ Kira thought. She thanked the captain, nodded to Bashir on her way past, and set off from the conference room with Damar a barely comfortable distance behind her.

 

*

 

Julian made a vague attempt to avoid watching Kira and Damar as they excused themselves and exited the room together, but it was difficult. He was incredibly curious, due in no small part to Ezri’s frequent prompting on the subject. When the doors closed and he was alone with the captain, he took a seat in the chair that had previously been occupied by Damar.

“Doctor,” the captain began almost immediately, “I have a mission for you.”

“Sir?”

Sisko left his seat and stepped over to the viewscreen on the wall. He brought up an image framed as though it had been captured from another screen. The picture was static, and clearly taken from a security feed supplied by a device placed somewhere high. It showed an unidentifiable holding cell. There were no prisoners that Julian could see inside the small alcove, but the force field was active nevertheless, and five armed personnel were stationed around the room. In the center of the cell, atop a pedestal, sat a small container no larger than a replicator window. Its shape was that of a biconvex lens, with a large locking structure attached to the lid; a series of lights flashed along the top, indicating that the contents were secure. It appeared to be filled with a thick fluid of some kind. When he looked at the image more closely he could see that the suspension was gold, and vaguely iridescent.

“The Founder,” Julian said in surprise.

“She’s in stasis,” the captain explained, “so it’s unlikely she has any knowledge of the events that have occurred since her capture and trial. However, we can’t afford to ignore the possibility that she may have information relevant to the current investigation, regardless.”

“And you’re sending me to question her?” It seemed to Julian that there were dozens—perhaps hundreds—of more qualified officers for such a task. Many of whom were unfamiliar to the Founder, and might not risk inciting her ire with their mere presence. “Wouldn’t someone from Starfleet Intelligence be better suited to conduct such an interview?”

“You cured the disease that was afflicting the Great Link, Doctor. If she has reason to cooperate with anyone in Starfleet, it will be you. Given the actions of Section 31 I doubt she’ll trust anyone from Starfleet Intelligence.” The captain erased the image from the screen and returned to his seat at the end of the table. “I’m sure you also know that _where_ she is being held is a closely-guarded secret.”

“I was curious about that particular detail, yes.”

In answer to that, Sisko picked up a padd and handed it to Julian. “Here is all the relevant information you will need to gain access to the Founder. They already know you’re coming.”

“Am I correct to assume this mission is need-to-know only, sir?” Julian asked.

“As far as anyone is concerned, you’re just taking a few days to assist with the opening of a new medical facility.”

“I understand. Captain, if I may speak freely?” Julian asked, waiting for the go-ahead. When he received a motion to continue he said, “I don’t claim to understand exactly how things work within the wormhole—within the _Celestial Temple_ , that is. But as I understand it, you were quite clear about your knowledge of certain events, both past and present, when you spoke with Damar during his orb experience. If it’s not too presumptive of me to say, sir, I would imagine you already _have_ the answers you’re seeking. Why go to all this trouble?”

The captain watched him for a moment, his patient smile betraying nothing of his own thoughts. Finally he laughed, and wagged a finger at Julian as though he’d only just picked up on the punchline of a particularly clever joke. “Some things never change, do they?” he asked. “Enjoy your trip, Doctor Bashir.”

 

*

 

Following an aptlynamed briefing, Ilpal had wasted no time ushering them out of the security office and out to the docking ring, where they quickly boarded a runabout that had already been prepared in advance of their departure. The corridors had been cleared ahead of them, but none of Ilpal’s deputies were visible, nor did the extraordinary security measures reveal any sign of their efforts. It was an impressive feat of coordination and control to quickly shut down an entire portion of the station with no obvious disruption, and Damar found it raised his estimation of the constable’s skills considerably. He still hadn’t quite forgiven her for blasting a hole in his home, of course, but the level of dedication she was showing with regards to their safety was appreciated nevertheless.

The two day journey to Bajor aboard the _Kamogawa_ was incredibly awkward, of course, just as he had predicted. And while Ilpal was decent company, she made no effort at all to fill the long silences, unlike Bashir. Kira, of course, made every effort to avoid so much as looking at him, let alone speaking. Damar found he actually missed the doctor’s endless chatter when it was needed most, when the quiet discomfort became such a burden that one of them was forced to retreat to the back of the runabout.

When they finally arrived on Bajor and were able to exit the runabout it was like a breath of fresh air—cold, blistering air that seared his lungs and throat. He quickly wrapped his arms around himself and clenched his jaw tight.

“It’s freezing!” he complained loudly as the runabout hatch closed. “Why didn’t we just beam directly into the building?”

“Transport scramblers, dampening fields. It’s only a short walk,” Ilpal explained. “You can make it.”

Damar glowered at her as he tried to pull his collar up over his neck ridges. He decided then to take back everything he had thought about Ilpal, and reassess his appreciation of her previous work, as well. It was petty, but he was cold. “You might have warned me,” he grumbled into the too-thin fabric of his jacket.

They were immediately stopped at the entrance to the prison grounds by militia personnel guarding what struck Damar as an extremely pointless wall. It was barely three meters high, and only a single, extremely obvious forcefield blocked access to the gate, which itself was just a large wooden circle, split in two. It looked more like the entrance to a manor house or a large farm than a prison. Damar frowned at the characters inscribed into the masonwork arch over the gate and tried to tuck himself a little further into his own clothes.

Their identities confirmed, and more than a few suspicious glances aimed his way, the three visitors were cleared to enter. They were accompanied by two of the guards who flanked them on either side as they walked. Damar noticed they seemed particularly focused on the Cardassian in their midst, which wasn’t at all surprising. Inside the “wall” the layout of the grounds resembled the sort of tended garden monasteries he had seen in his youth, in school lessons depicting the lush, verdant, spoils of Bajor. With the coming of winter the trees were bare and the grass had turned a dull brown, but the meticulous care showed throughout regardless. “Is this a prison, or a garden?” he asked as they trudged along. Their boots crunched over the gravel path beneath their feet, which was itself bordered by a line of small shrubs, their leaves shriveled and wilted by the cold.

“Both,” one of their escorts answered. He said no more than that, and Damar didn’t ask for further clarification. He had feeling that the patience of their hosts was already extremely thin.

After a miserable hike up the tiered slope that led to the main building, as well as another security checkpoint, they were finally permitted access to the interior of the prison complex. The air inside was much warmer, but not the balmy heat Damar would have preferred to soothe the deep chill he had suffered. Depending on how long it took to question Nelara, he had a feeling he would barely be approaching comfortable again by the time they were ready to return to the _Kamogawa_.

One of their escorts remained behind at the entrance with Ilpal while the other took the lead and continued on down a long hallway. As they walked Damar took the opportunity to examine the structure of the building; the ceiling was set with a series of arches that mimicked the shape of the one that enclosed the outside gate, and seemed more decorative than functional. He assumed it was an intentional act of design, lending credit to his theory that the facility had been a monastery before being converted into a prison. Perhaps by his own people.

As they began to pass what were clearly cells, Damar suddenly felt much more out of place than he had at any point yet during their trip—what was _he_ , a former Cardassian soldier, doing in a Bajoran prison? He was certain most of the Bajorans present very likely felt that he belonged in one of those cells himself. It was only good fortune that none of the rooms had windows in the doors. He wasn’t sure he could stand to see what would certainly be rage on the faces of the prisoners as they watched a Cardassian march past.

“She’s here,” the guard informed them. He stopped at a door that had been marked with several warnings. Apparently Nelara hadn’t taken well to her captivity. “They’ve already restrained her,” he explained. “But try not to get her excited.”

“We’ll do our best,” Kira said. It was the first words she had spoken since they landed, and the sound of her voice nearly made Damar jump.

The man shot Damar another scornful glance and leaned in to tell Kira, “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

 

*

 

In preparation for their eventual entrance into the Federation, the Bajoran penal system had been reformed after the Occupation to focus on rehabilitation, rather than incarceration. Kira often felt that a lot of it had to do with the distaste her people felt over the subject of prisons, after what so many had been through courtesy of the Cardassians. Regardless of the reason, the changes certainly showed in the room Nelara occupied. Not a cell in any traditional sense, it was more like a quaint, comfortable cabin on a starship. There was a replicator set into one wall, a bed carefully made up with several blankets, and ample space to move about.

Nelara herself was sitting on a small stool next to a desk, with her hands clasped by a set of restraints that looked much like the ones she had worn the last time they were all together. She no longer wore Cardassian dresses, but the same bland, gray-green jumpsuit that was typical of Bajoran prisoners. A wardrobe change was expected, but it was her hair that Kira found most unsettling—it was short, and seemed to have been cut quickly and unevenly. Whoever did it obviously hadn’t cared much for the results.

Nelara looked up at Kira and smiled politely. “I didn’t expect to see you again,” she said.

“Nelara. I’m sure they told you we were coming,” Kira said. Her heart hammered against the inside of her chest, and she was sure that everyone could hear it. The face that had haunted her since Tastha revealed the truth of their awful link was _right there_. Placid and smiling, watching her with the same predatory focus she knew so well from years of suffering Dukat’s attention.

No.

 _Not_ Dukat’s. Kira tried to shake the unfair thought from her mind. Nelara didn’t look anything like Dukat. In fact, she didn’t look much like Meru, either. But maybe that was just denial at work again. Maybe it was how strange she looked with her hair chopped into uneven spikes. _Don’t ask any personal questions,_ she reminded herself, but her mouth betrayed that command. “Did they make you cut your hair?” she asked.

Nelara shook her head. “I cut it myself. That is why they took away my art supplies. I’m only allowed musical instruments and books until I can show that I am not a danger to myself or my fellow prisoners.” She said the last part like she was repeating something that had been explained to her several times before.

Kira glanced over her shoulder at Damar; he had stationed himself by the door, nearly pinned into the corner with his arms crossed. He looked like he wanted to be _anywhere_ at that moment but in there with them. She couldn’t say she blamed him for it. “Why would you do that?” she asked Nelara absently.

“I’m sure you can imagine why I would wish to rid myself of such a weakness.”

Of course. Kren had used her hair to stop her. “I understand. Have they been treating you well here?” _Stop!_ she shouted inside her own head. _It doesn’t matter! You’re here for a reason!_

“As well as can be expected.” Nelara’s smile slipped then, and she looked down at her lap. “The other prisoners don’t like me very much,” she said quietly.

She couldn’t have been much older than Ziyal, Kira was surprised to realize. Prior to her trial they had done away with the surgical alterations that allowed her to appear fully Cardassian, and it made her youth that much more apparent. How much had she experienced in her young life; how bad had things been that she was so willing to kill on command?

Nelara lifted her hands in the restraints and sighed. “This really isn’t necessary,” she said. “I have no reason to leave here.”

“And if you did? What would it be?” Kira asked.

Nelara’s expression sharpened again, and she smiled. “I made it very clear to the people who questioned me before that I won’t reveal anything about my mission.”

“Your mission. You were supposed to assassinate Damar— _Legate_ Damar,” Kira corrected quickly. It was pointless; Nelara knew of their relationship, and if she had done any sort of reconnaissance, she likely knew some of the more tawdry details on top of that. The formality was only for Kira’s own comfort. Not that it did much good.

“I was to aid in his disposal, yes.” Nelara then leaned to the side to look past Kira. “Hello, Legate. I apologize for ignoring you.”

“Nelara,” Damar said coldly.

She looked back up at Kira and drew her shoulders up in a large, dramatic shrug. “I’m afraid if you’ve come here for help identifying my comrades, you will be disappointed.”

“ _Why_ did you do it?” Kira insisted. Just as before, she hadn’t really meant to say it, the words simply came out on their own. The question was hardly mission-specific, but at least it was tangentially related.

“Why?” Nelara asked. She shifted on the stool to make herself comfortable, and then said, “Do you know what it’s like to be looked at as if you’re the living embodiment of something grotesque?” She stopped and waited for a moment, and then continued. “I grew up between the cracks in society, Colonel. My earliest memories are of an orphanage on a Cardassian colony. That wasn’t so bad—perhaps our Bajoran noses and weak ridges weren’t so obvious when we were small and underfoot. But the bigger I got, the more everyone tried to forget me, and the harder they worked to erase my existence. They looked at me and they _knew_ what I was. How I’d come to be. The Bajorans didn’t want to see it, and the Cardassians didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“Over time I gave in to their demands; I went away. At the end of the Occupation I slipped into the darker parts of Cardassian society, the part that welcomed undesirables. But even there I was a pariah. Better to be a _true_ Cardassian with no family than a half-breed.” A small smile lifted one corner of her mouth. “That’s where they found me.”

Kira tried to swallow back her own distaste at the thought of how Nelara had come to be, knowing the reflexive urge for what it was. “Nelara, whoever it was that helped you, whoever gave you that other face, they were just using you,” she said. “You need to know that.”

“Of course I _know that,_ ” Nelara scoffed, as if it were both obvious and completely acceptable—even expected. “That is what assets are for,” she explained.

“But—”

“What purpose did I have before, Colonel? I was lucky to have lived through the purge of all things the Dominion and the Cardassians deemed unsuitable for their new alliance. I stayed out of sight, and kept quiet. At the end of the war no aid was offered to my kind unless we dared to seek out the Federation volunteers ourselves. That meant emerging from our hiding places, to be sneered at and abused by the other refugees. I simply survived before I was given a _reason_ to exist. I don’t mind being used if it means I have a place in the world.”

“And to have your place, you would have taken it fromothers,” Damar said from his corner. “How do you justify that?”

“As if _you_ have any right to lecture meabout considering the lives of others!” Nelara snapped. “You, who helped to sell the Cardassian people to the Dominion in the first place. Do you think that a few good deeds now make up for your hand in the slaughter? For the times you pulled the trigger _yourself?_ ”

Kira had turned to watch Damar, shocked at how he appeared to wither under her questions. He was silent after that, and Kira was both grateful and sympathetic. There were things he would never forgive himself for doing—and not doing. Choices he had made that he deserved to carry with him for the rest of his life. But her own feelings—the twisted knot of conflicting emotions she tried so hard to suppress every day—made it difficult not to see his pain and feel some of it herself. She turned back to Nelara to block the image of Damar’s haunted, downcast stare. “We’re here to talk about _you,_ ” she said.

“Yes, let us talk about me. Doctor Bashir was kind enough to explain that we have the same mother,” Nelara said, so candidly that it felt like a slap in the face. “ _Meru_ , I believe he said her name was. Did you know her?”

 _Don’t discuss any personal matters, and do not answer her questions._ “Not… Not very well,” Kira said. “I don’t want to talk about th—”

“Did she abandon you, too?”

“Of course not,” Kira said quickly. “She was taken from our family when I was little.” _By your father. The monster who took my mother to his bed and made_ you.

“I see,” Nelara said quietly. The anger she had been so quick to hurl at Damar seemed to have faded, and she she bowed her head slightly as she added, “I apologize for my assumption.”

The constant juggling of emotions left Kira mentally exhausted, and the fatigue eagerly translated to her body. She pulled up a stool of her own and sat down with a weary sigh. “My mother was taken away to be a... comfort woman for Cardassian officers.”

There was arestrained sound of surprise from behind her, and Kira realized that in her distress she had almost forgotten Damar was there. He must not have known. Strange, she thought—had Dukat really kept that information all to himself? She expected him to have bragged about it, regaling his men with tales of the Bajoran women he’d conquered and how he had broken their spirits beneath him while he destroyed what lives the Cardassians had ever allowed them to have. Damar, at least, must have heard some of the darkest details. But not that one?

“How old were you?” Nelara asked, interrupting Kira’s bitter contemplation of Dukat’s crimes.

“I was three years old,” Kira answered. Why? Why was it so easy to share this information with someone who was, for all intents and purposes, a complete stranger? They shared nothing but some DNA and an association with a woman neither one could remember.

Nelara nodded thoughtfully. “You must have felt like something of an outcast, yourself.”

“Sometimes,” Kira admitted. “For a while we received more food, better supplies. I didn’t know then, but people must have known why. I can’t imagine how much it hurt my father. To care for us all alone the way he did.”

“You said _we_. Do you have siblings?”

Kira shook her head. “I had two brothers,” she said, “but they’re gone now.”

“I see. And… do I have any other half-siblings? Did my father have more children?” Far from the taunting and the snide dismissal of Kira’s earlier questions, Nelara seemed innocently curious now, almost shy as she asked about the possibility of discovering more family somewhere.

“You obviously know about ...Ziyal,” Kira said, hesitating to say the name for reasons she couldn’t quite comprehend. She was too tired to even wonder why, anymore. “He also had a wife and several children, but—” She stopped and turned to Damar. He only looked away and shook his head. Of course, she realized, feeling awful now for an entirely different reason. The Cardassians wouldn’t have spared anyone in their thirst for vengeance. Dukat had given their lives to the Dominion, sold his people out for power, but he was no longer alive to punish. That sentence fell on his children, instead. Any who had survived the Jem’Hadar had undoubtedly been targeted by the civilians. Kira took a steadying breath to cleanse herself of the terrible thoughts that were slowly filling up her mind, and said, “There might be one. Another half-Bajoran, like you. If he’s still alive he would be almost four years old. But I’m afraid I don’t know his name.”

Nelara nodded at her hands and sighed. “It’s very confusing,” she said. “I was told to hate the man who turned out to be my father. And I _do_ hate him, just like I hated my mother. But now I find that perhaps she wasn’t the monster I always believed, and perhaps he was worse than I ever imagined.”

Kira was very familiar with both of those feelings, as well as the inner turmoil of trying to reconcile the idea of someone with the reality. “I think it will take you a long time to come to terms with this, if you’re ever able to,” she said. They each had demons to slay, monsters they had to face that no one could defeat for them. At least Nelara had that opportunity now. She even seemed to appreciate thewords of empathy Kira had offered her.

Something like a companionable understanding seemed to occur between them then, and Kira wondered if maybe she hadn’t been wrong after all. If maybe all that was ever needed to loosen Nelara’s grip on the information they were seeking was kindness, and a bit of understanding. Not cold suspicion. Leaning forward to place a hand on Nelara’s knee, and ignoring the way it made her stomach turn, Kira asked, “Tell me who gave you your orders, please.”

Nelara was silent for a time, shifting her hands to ease what must have been a growing ache from the burden of her restraints. Finally she huffed a sigh and said, “We were never going to harm the Bajoran hostages. They were only a means to an end—our way to make the rest of the Alpha Quadrant turn its back on the Cardassian Union. But _not_ to destroy it,” she explained, finally looking up at Kira again. “To save it. Once Legate Damar was out of the way, we would have brought them back from Orias III. We would have rescued them ourselves. You see? It was all so carefully planned, and no one would have been harmed—except the legate, of course. But you… You were just so _stubborn_.”

“And that’s why they separated me from the others.”

She nodded. “Ibelieve so. They brought you back to Cardassia and locked you up below the house. I was told to look after you. And then Kren, too. There was concern that he might piece things together on his own. He was investigating what had happened to you, did you know that?”

Kira shook her head. She didn’t even think Damar had known that. “Please, go on.”

Nelara reached up with her cuffed hands and tried to scratch her nose. “I wish they had let me keep my face,” she lamented with a sigh.

“ _Who_ told you to do these things?” Kira insisted.

“It doesn’t matter now, Colonel,” Nelara said. Whatever understanding had passed between them before was gone. Her entire demeanor changed so quickly it left Kira speechless. “Everything has proceeded as planned, and all the pieces are moving into place as we speak. You won’t understand until it’s too late.”


	3. Chapter 3

It was a long, cold walk back to the _Kamogawa_. Even Kira felt the weight of the winter air as she trudged silently beside Ilpal. Damar muttered and cursed uncomfortably behind them, and if not for the emotional toll it had taken on her, Kira might have joined him. In the end they had learned almost nothing of any substance, revealing only that there were more attacks coming for sure, but not when or where they might be planned. That somehow, at least as far as Nelara believed, they were playing right into the hands of their enemy. As they boarded the runabout, only Ilpal seemed at all satisfied with the meager results of their mission.  
  
Kira took the first seat at the controls, walking herself through the pre-departure procedures simply because they were the only thing in her life that felt normal at that moment. When Damar took the second chair beside her she briefly forgot the tension between them and turned to watch him curiously.  
  
“Ilpal is in the back,” he explained. “She said something about how exhausting it was to be around us.”  
  
“She should try _being_ us,” Kira muttered, turning back to the controls. When Damar didn’t respond, she cleared her throat and said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t joke about it.”  
  
“No, it’s perfectly alright.” He reached out to accept an incoming message. “We’re cleared for departure,” he said.  
  
Kira nodded, and with a swift series of keystrokes the runabout lifted effortlessly into the night, heading skyward in preparation for their return to the station. “We’ll break orbit in about eight minutes.”  
  
With nothing else to do, Damar leaned back in his seat and folded his hands in his lap. For a minute or two Kira was hopeful that their short exchange had been the end of it. Then he pulled in a breath and said, “In fact, I should be the one to apologize,” in one great rush. He turned his seat toward her, and she could see him watching her from the corner of her eye. “I’m sure I caused you a great deal of pain, and—”  
  
She shook her head. “We really shouldn’t talk about this, Damar.”  
  
“Of course. I just imagined that it would be difficult for you especially to discuss your feelings. I must have placed you in an uncomfortable position with my actions back on Cardassia.”  
  
“Me _especially?_ What’s that supposed to mean?” Kira demanded. She turned her chair to face him and crossed her arms.  
  
“Well… I just meant that you’re…” He lifted a hand and gestured to her. “You know.”  
  
“No, please enlighten me.”  
  
Damar let his hand drop into his lap and frowned. “Kira, I’m trying to be considerate.”  
  
“And _that’s_ the best you can manage?”  
  
He made several attempts to explain himself, cutting himself off halfway through a word each time until he seemed to give up completely. Obviously frustrated, he turned back to the console and started running minor diagnostics. Kira was more than happy to follow his lead—minus the pointless, self-appointed task—and she was just about to when the runabout suddenly shuddered violently, accompanied by a deafening roar that felt like thunder in her ears. She was shoved forward onto the console by the shockwave of an explosion, and beside her Damar was thrown sideways into the bulkhead. Kira righted herself in her seat and whipped around to find a large section of the runabout’s aft portion had been ripped away by the blast. It was simply gone, and in its place there was only a wide panorama of the Bajoran landscape, dark blue and dotted with lights so distant that it made her stomach drop at the sight of them.  
  
“The engines are offline!” Damar shouted over the howl of the wind as it rushed in to fill the small space left inside the vessel.  
  
Kira turned back to the console and ran through the short list of options they had in the brief time left before it would be too late to do anything. “And communications!” she yelled to him through the chaos. No chance of calling for help. She started working on coaxing the impulse engines to life, praying silently that she had gleaned enough from years of watching O’Brien work minor miracles with half-dead systems to supplement her own experience. Finally they came back online, stuttering and threatening to give out as Kira put every ounce of power she could find into slowing their descent. She could feel the runabout fighting gravity, shaking and threatening to tear itself apart as the rapidly approaching forest below them came closer, and the first treetops brushed the bottom of the cracked hull.  
  
Then the panel went dark beneath her fingers, followed swiftly by the inside lights as the power systems failed completely.  
  
She braced herself against the console and said, “You might want to hold on to something.”  
  
  
  
  
Kira woke to the smell of fire and the awareness that she was alive, and apparently whole. The only injury that she could immediately sense was a discomfort in her left shoulder that couldn’t seem to decide if it wanted to throb or sting. It alternated between the two with each breath, and when she tried to turn her head and check they combined to become a pain so sharp and intense that she cried out and clutched her hand to the wound, which only made it worse. After some time, when the agony subsided and she was able to move again, she slowly twisted her neck until she could see the full extent of the injury. What she found made her stomach turn; her uniform had been sheared away from the top of her chest up to her shoulder, and the skin was raw and bleeding. Bits of dirt and rock had been ground into the exposed flesh, making every attempt at motion pure agony. There were countless other cuts and scrapes slowly making themselves known elsewhere, spots where she could feel discomfort that would undoubtedly become bruises later, but her shoulder seemed to be the worst of it.  
  
The green-orange fire cast off by the wreckage of the _Kamogawa_ revealed little of their immediate surroundings. They were in a forest, somewhere. That was it. There was no telling how far they had managed to go after the explosion, or whether they were close enough to a settlement or city for someone to have seen the crash. The prison had been in a fairly remote region of the province, which didn’t bode well for their chances of being rescued before they bled or froze to death—assuming the others had made it.  
  
As if in reply, she caught a familiar groan over the crackle of the plasma fire.  
  
“Damar, can you hear me?” she called out to him. When he didn’t answer she forced herself to sit up. The pain made her dizzy, and she fought down a wave of nausea for the effort. “Damar!”  
  
The answer was another groan, followed by a sharp hiss and a series of violent curses. Kira turned toward the direction of his voice to find him only a few meters away, lying on his side and clutching his right leg with both hands. A piece of debris had pierced his leg.  
  
“Don’t move, I’m coming over to you.” Easier said than done, she discovered quickly; although her legs were fine apart from some minor scrapes and cuts, the crash itself had left her aching and weak. Forcing herself to stand through the pain required an act of pure will. By the time she was up and moving, trudging slowly toward where Damar lay, he had managed to calm himself and started trying to get up as well. “Stay down,” she ordered, but he ignored her.  
  
“You are a _magnet_ for random violence,” he complained as he pushed himself into a sitting position. Up close she could see that his jacket was torn in several places, and he had sustained a gash to his forehead that appeared to have stopped bleeding on its own already.  
  
“You’re the one they’re trying to kill,” she reminded him as she dropped to her knees beside him. She gripped the piece of debris in his leg with her good hand. “Brace yourself.”  
  
Damar didn’t seem to understand the warning until it was too late; he roared with pain as Kira ripped the jagged metal from his leg, clutching at the area around the wound as if he could protect it while he rolled around in the dirt. “I never—” He stopped to clench his teeth when she started to wrap a piece of her torn uniform jacket around the injury. “I never had to worry about this sort of thing before you found me at Moren’s farm,” he said accusingly.  
  
“Can you get up?” she asked.  
  
“I could, perhaps, if I weren’t hemorrhaging blood from a large hole in my leg.”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “Well, we can’t stay here. Whoever planted that bomb is probably going to come looking to make sure they finished the job.”  
  
Damar’s aggravation quickly turned to unease, and he began peering at the shadows around them, searching for evidence of an impending attack. “What about Ilpal?” he asked. “Did she make it?” He didn’t need to mention that she had been the only one who was armed at the time of the crash.  
  
Kira shrugged her good shoulder and shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ll look for her while I try to find something to put on your leg and my shoulder.”  
  
“The medkit was probably consumed by the fire,” he said. “I wouldn’t advise going back in there.”  
  
“I was going to check the woods.”  
  
Damar looked at forest surrounding them and laughed. “Yes, because far too few doctors avail themselves of the powerful healing properties of _rocks and sticks_. Things we are fortunate to possess in abundance.”  
  
She sighed and pushed herself up off the ground with a pained grunt. “It’s basic field survival, Damar. Try not to bleed too much while I’m gone.”  
  
“Of course,” he muttered under his breath. “What a disappointment it would be for you if I were to lose consciousness.”  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Kira returned a short while later carrying a handful of plant stalks and leaves that Damar hoped were meant to be the components of an unguent, and not their first meal in the wilderness. She was still favoring her left shoulder, but she showed no outward signs of pain as she picked her way around the wreckage to where he had propped himself up against a piece of the _Kamogawa’s_ hull.  
  
“We’re lucky some of these made it so far into the winter,” she said as she dropped the green and brown bundle in front of him. “I’ll need to grind them up with something, but they should do for now.”  
  
“You are not going to put _plant paste_ on me,” he informed her matter-of-factly.  
  
“What’s the matter, Damar? Squeamish about the idea of being treated by primitive Bajoran medicine? It’s this,” she pointed to the plants, “or you risk an infection and you bleed every time you take a step. But I’m content to use it all on myself if you want to take that chance. Maybe you can get a leg like Kren’s. He’ll probably be flattered, assuming you make it that long.”  
  
“I’m sure we’ll be rescued well before it comes to that.”  
  
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that.” She sat down and began grinding up the plants with a small piece of the runabout. Whatever component it had been originally, either the explosion or the resulting fire had melted it into a solid, smooth chunk. “We were already pretty far away from anything when we started out,” she added as she worked.  
  
“Did you see any sign of Ilpal?” Damar asked. He had given up on complaining about the thought of his wound being slathered with plant matter, and instead watched her hands while she deftly split the stalks and divested them of their leaves. She had such an engaging economy of movement, and her slender fingers seemed to know just what to do without showing any effort at all on her part. She barely seemed to be paying attention to what she was doing.  
  
“No,” Kira said, shaking her head. “I called out to her a few times, but I didn’t want to risk attracting attention. If she made it, she could be a kilometer or more from where we crashed. From what I saw it looks like the rear of the runabout broke apart long before the forward half hit the ground.”  
  
Damar frowned. “It seems like attracting attention is exactly what we should do if we have any hope of being rescued.”  
  
Kira stopped grinding the plants and used her makeshift pestle to point to the fire-filled hole in the side of the runabout. “That was a bomb,” she said. “You and I both know that.”  
  
He did know, but he hadn’t quite reached the point where he was comfortable acknowledging it. Denial was much more comforting under the circumstances. Rather than admit that, he changed the subject. “It’s a shame about Ilpal,” he said solemnly. “She was a good soldier.”  
  
“I wouldn’t start mourning her just yet, I’ve seen her come through some pretty tough scrapes. When I’m done with this I’ll tell you about the targ in the cargo bay.”  
  
  
  
  
They walked through the forest for what felt like hours, guided only by the little starlight they could make out through the canopy of interwoven branches above. Dead leaves crunched underfoot and a strong wind buffeted them relentlessly, finding its way into every small tear in their clothes. Damar shivered until his teeth felt like they might fall out of his head, and neither the pain in his leg nor the constant movement seemed to do anything to keep him warm. Every so often he was forced to stop and rest against the trunk of a tree, but Kira would urge him on again. He tried not to resent her for it. After all, she had a very good point; they had lingered at the crash site far too long. If anyone was hunting for them, they wouldn’t have far to go to find their quarry.  
  
Damar was at first pleased to find that the forest opened up more and more as they approached the foot of a rocky slope. It was only when they had cleared the treeline that he realized why: the base of the high-reaching ridge was peppered with countless rocks, too small to see and too large to ignore, and almost invisible in the dark. Their presence made it impossible to keep an eye on both Kira and his own feet as he stumbled along, hoping not to add broken bones to his growing list of recent injuries. In no time at all he had fallen so far behind that only the light reflected by the two visible moons overhead kept him moving in the right direction.  
  
“I’ve changed my mind,” he complained to himself as he attempted to make his way across the field of scattered tallus. “I want to go back. I’d rather die warm next to the burning runabout than spend another _minute_ out here.”  
  
“Stop muttering to yourself and get over here!” Kira called back to him. She had veered off in the direction of a small outcropping at the base of the slope. “I found a cave!”  
  
As he drew closer Damar saw that she had already begun clearing the ground in the center of what turned out to be less of a cave and more of a deep, sheltered overhang. She gathered up all the sticks and branches that she could find and set them in the center of the space to form a fire pit. He happily collapsed on the ground next to where she was going to build the fire, exhausted from the journey.  
  
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Kira warned him.  
  
“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” he muttered. He lifted his head and peered at her through the darkness. “Why?”  
  
“Because I need to treat the rest of your wounds, and take a look at your leg to make sure the bleeding has stopped.”  
  
“Oh no,” he shook his head. “I’ve had enough of the Bajoran wilderness in contact with my body tonight. I will be fine without it.”  
  
She ignored his complaints and knelt down next to him. Without bothering to ask for permission she began tugging at the collar of his jacket. “Come on,” she prompted when he refused to yield and let her undress him.  
  
“It must be ten degrees out here, there cannot possibly be anything so life threatening that I have to remove my clothes in this weather,” he protested.  
  
Kira sat back on her heels and set the poultice on the ground beside her. “You were thrown from the runabout just like I was, and I know I’m covered in scrapes. Clothes off.”  
  
Damar sighed in defeat, but continued to pout for a moment longer before he finally relented. He sat up and began to remove his jacket and shirt, grumbling the whole time until he was bare from the waist up, and then he _really_ started to complain. Kira ignored him and moved around to his back to take a closer look in the moonlight. She carefully applied small dabs of the paste to his skin, and every touch made Damar twitch and curse at the unwelcome addition to the cold. It was like being poked with an icicle. The fingers he had so admired before suddenly became deft instruments of torment.  
  
“It’s not _that_ bad out here,” Kira sighed.  
  
“Maybe not to you. Are you almost done?”  
  
“Almost,” she said. She brushed away the hair at the nape of his neck and drew her palms over the curve of his neck ridges. Damar shivered under her touch, and when her fingertips found the soft skin below his ear he half-turned to look at her. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I was just checking… You should be fine now.”  
  
“Maybe you should take a look at the front, too,” Damar suggested, swallowing back the dryness in his throat. “I think you can see better than I can.”  
  
That wasn’t true, of course; he could see just as well—if not better—in the low light. For a moment it seemed as though she would call him on his lie, but then she silently accepted his request, and moved around to kneel in front of him. With one hand she held the small dish of dark green paste, and with the other she felt along his chest, searching for the injuries they both knew weren’t there. Damar closed his eyes, enjoying the heat it stirred in him as Kira’s warm palm moved over his skin. She lingered in places, familiar spots he could remember her touching at more intimate times. How he longed to hold her again, to have her body beside him. Her gentle caress was a torture and a balm all at once.  
  
Without warning she suddenly dropped the dish on the ground and moved into his lap, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she pressed her lips to his. Damar eagerly reciprocated, and for a moment they both seemed ready to forget the awful series of circumstances that had brought them to where they were.  
  
But only for a moment.  
  
Kira gasped and recoiled from the embrace that she had instigated, tumbling backwards away from him and landing in the dirt breathing hard and staring wide-eyed at Damar, who, for his part, was only cold and confused.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he began, but she cut him off before he could continue.  
  
“No—no, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have...” She shook her head. “I had no right to do that.”  
  
Damar cleared his throat and reached for his shirt and jacket. “It’s fine,” he said, trying to sound as though his hopes hadn’t just come crashing down around him. Beneath the disappointment and the confusion he understood. He really did. “I probably couldn’t have spared the blood anyway,” he added with a shrug.  
  
Still sitting in the dirt, Kira’s shoulders began to shake, and then she started laughing. Damar was too shocked to know what to do or say. He waited, stunned and half-frozen from the cold, with his shirt pulled halfway over his shoulders. As he watched she lay back and stretched out on the ground, still chuckling to herself as she stared up at the sky. Her smile eventually faded, and Damar continued to dress himself when he was certain it was safe to do so.  
  
“This is awful,” she said after some time had passed.  
  
“Someone will find us.”  
  
Kira shook her head. She pushed herself up from the ground with an uncomfortable grunt and set about gathering the rest of the materials to build a fire. “That’s not what I meant,” he heard her say quietly.  
  
Something about her tone left Damar with the distinct impression that her comment hadn’t been an invitation to question her further on the subject. “You don’t have to do that,” he said, gesturing to the growing pile of sticks and dead leaves.  
  
“I could survive without it for a night, but I don’t know if you will.”  
  
He huffed a short sigh and frowned at her back. “I’m not that weak, Kira. I _can_ make it through one night in the cold.”  
  
“Oh, I’m sure you can,” she said. “But you’ll complain nonstop, and then I might be forced to kill you.”  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Julian maneuvered the _Potomac_ into the bay that had been opened for his arrival. The runabout had barely landed before the overhead doors began to close and a force field activated, sealing him in. His instructions from the facility had included a stern warning to remain in the runabout until their security conducted both a thorough sensor scan and a visual inspection of the vessel. Had his mission truly been for the purpose of assisting the staff in finalizing their preparations to open a new medical facility, as any outside observers were meant to believe, Julian might have found the stringent protocols offensive, even paranoid. But knowing that the facade of a hospital complex was merely a pretense—quite fitting, given the actual location—it seemed only natural that they should approach even the most outwardly innocuous visitor as a potential threat.  
  
When he was finally permitted to disembark, Julian immediately found himself faced with a six-man team of Bajoran Militia personnel, each armed with a holstered sidearm and a Starfleet issue phaser rifle. A far cry from the simple doctors and nurses that were meant to be there. He might not have found their armaments surprising under the circumstances, but even so, his gaze lingered on the closest weapon as the officers surrounded him.  
  
“Welcome to Derna, Doctor Bashir. Please forgive the unfriendly welcome,” a man spoke up from behind the barrier of well-armed bodies. “It’s a very necessary precaution.” He was young, perhaps no older than Julian, and tall. His broad smile was warm and far more welcoming than the blank faces that surrounded him. He wasn’t dressed in a Militia uniform, as one might have expected, but what appeared to be casual civilian attire. The top of his silver earring was lost in a tangle of curly brown hair. “My name is Emrol Arraken. I’m the director here. Please, allow me to have someone take your bag for you.” He snapped his fingers and waved one of the guards over.  
  
“That’s really not necessary,” Julian objected politely.  
  
“Unfortunately it is,” Emrol insisted.  
  
The officer stepped up and removed Julian’s bag from his shoulder, immediately opening the zippered pouch and extracting the contents one at a time. They were handed off to another who laid them all out on a nearby table and scanned each one by one.  
  
Julian frowned. “This is a bit much, don’t you think?”  
  
“Standard procedure, I’m afraid.”  
  
“All for one prisoner? I understand the risks inherent in keeping her here, but surely a scan of my runabout would have indicated any—”  
  
“Doctor, maybe you’d like to follow me, and I can show you why this is about so much more than _one_ prisoner.” Emrol swung an arm out and gestured for Julian to follow him. “Please.”  
  
Julian hesitated, watching his things being tossed about by the militia personnel as they searched for contraband. Finally he gave in and followed Emrol out of the bay. They exited through a set of double doors into a large, squat hallway, bathed in a sickly green light. Four of the guards accompanied them, though they stayed well back from the two men.  
  
The design of the structure was unquestionably Romulan, owing that much to its origins, and the haste of the facility’s construction was apparent in the austerity of the bare walls and minimal accoutrements. Even the floors were hard metal grating, rather than carpeted. There were no exterior-facing windows to be found, but as they walked Julian saw they were coming upon several sets of floor-to-ceiling glass panels that overlooked another, much larger bay below. Looking through he could see dozens of personnel at work, monitoring equipment whose purpose he couldn’t immediately make out. It was difficult to tell from the height of their vantage point exactly _what_ was going on down there. Fortunately Emrol seemed more than willing to explain.  
  
He stopped at one of the windows and spread his arms out to indicate the bustling activity within the bay. “You see, Doctor Bashir, Derna is much more than it seems. The rest of the Alpha Quadrant believes it’s a hospital—while secretly aware of its true nature as a heavily fortified, defensive military installation. The lie-within-a-lie allows us to carry out our second, and much more _dangerous_ task free from disturbances by outsiders.”  
  
Suddenly the panels below seemed eerily familiar. Julian looked down through the glass. “Are those…?”  
  
Emrol nodded proudly. “This facility is equipped with a payload of over six thousand plasma torpedos.”  
  
“ _Six thousand?_ ” Julian exclaimed.  
  
“Well, we would have more, but the supply lines from Cardassia were halted during the incident earlier this year.”  
  
That simply made no sense at all. “Cardassia? Why would Cardassia be sending you—”  
  
“Because we keep them fed, Doctor. Legate Damar promised the Council of Ministers that Cardassia would repay its mounting debt to Bajor in whatever way the government felt was appropriate. At the moment this is the price they’ve set.” Emrol stopped to give Julian a patient smile. “You don’t expect the Cardassian people to eat plasma torpedos, do you? They’re much more useful to us.”  
  
Julian supposed it did make sense, in a somewhat perverse fashion; Cardassia had been left with territory filled to the brim with discarded Dominion technology after the war. What the Klingons and the Romulans hadn’t looted—and what hadn’t been snatched up by enterprising individuals and lost to black market profiteers—had been left to collect dust. The Cardassian Union was economically shattered, and had little in the way of goods to trade. Why not simply sell the weapons that had condemned them to their suffering in the first place? “And these torpedos, they’re for defensive purposes only?” he asked.  
  
“Bajor has no interest in conquest, Doctor. We only wish to keep our people safe. I’m sure you can understand that our proximity to the Cardassian Union has left us somewhat nervous, given the current climate.”  
  
Julian nodded. “I assume that you’ve managed to find a way to interface the Cardassian weapons with the technology left behind by the Romulans, then.”  
  
“It took some work, but we managed rig a functioning system eventually. I think you’ll find the process fascinating—if you’re interested, that is.” Emrol stepped away from the window and continued down the hall, taking a sharp right turn without so much as a pause. Julian quickly followed. “But we can discuss that later. Right now you’re scheduled for a visit with our special guest. One of two.”  
  
“Two?”  
  
“We’ve learned over time that coming out of stasis leaves her weakened for the first day or so. You’re only going to see her for a few minutes today, and then you’ll return tomorrow to conclude your business here.” They came to a stop at a set of doors labeled in Romulan script denoting a turbolift. Emrol keyed a series of numbers into the panel beside the door. “And I would be honored if you joined me for dinner after you’re finished introducing yourself.”  
  
“Oh, certainly,” Julian agreed.  
  
“Wonderful. Well,” Emrol stepped aside and allowed Julian—and his armed escorts—to enter the turbolift. “In that case, I’ll see you this evening, Doctor.”  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
The fire crackled and settled in the small pit Kira had dug out of the earth. The edges were lined with stones from the open ground outside. They absorbed the heat from the fire, radiating a steady warmth that Damar found soothing, even if it wasn’t quite sufficient to chase away the cold. “We’ll need to find something to eat,” he said. “Unless you do break down and murder me. That should solve at least one problem for you.”  
  
“I wouldn’t eat you, you’re all scales,” Kira answered absently from somewhere in the darkness. She had left him alone by the fire to gather more wood—or so she claimed. That was nearly an hour ago, and only the occasional rustle of dead leaves assured him that she was still somewhere close by.  
  
“Well, I suppose that’s comforting. I think we have enough wood for the night. Why don’t you come rest by the fire?”  
  
“Moving keeps me warm,” she said. The light from the fire made it impossible to see her beyond the small ring of light, and Damar had given up on trying to keep an eye on her. Not that he would have been able to do much if there was trouble.  
  
“Sitting by the fire will keep you warm.”  
  
“I don’t want to _sit,_ Damar,” Kira snapped.  
  
It had nothing to do with wood for the fire or keeping herself warm, of course; it was him. She didn’t want to be near _him_. Swallowing back the pang of disappointment that it caused him to accept that truth, Damar moved closer to the fire and tried to adjust his injured leg to make himself more comfortable. “I used to drink to keep myself warm,” he muttered. “You wouldn’t believe how cold they kept the Dominion headquarters for the Founder. Not as cold as this, but… I could use some kanar right about now.”  
  
“You used to drink for a lot of reasons,” Kira said. She was still nearby, but now her voice came from somewhere to the right, and objects in the way—trees, or perhaps rocks?—muffled the sound.  
  
“We all find ways to cope.”  
  
He heard her laugh, and then from somewhere over his shoulder she said, “Your way of coping cost you the war.”  
  
Damar tried to sit up. He ended up lifting himself at an angle with one arm and looking around through the darkness for some sign of where she was. “What do you mean by that?” he demanded.  
  
Finally she appeared again, this time carrying an armful of dried sticks and even more dead brush. “Didn’t you ever wonder how we found out about the anti-graviton beam?” she asked, dropping the stack on the ground next to her.  
  
He tried to think back; how had his drinking been in any way connected to Rom’s sabotage? It hadn’t even been his plan they were attempting to foil—he’d stolen it from a dead man. “I don’t understand,” he admitted finally.  
  
Kira sat down on the other side of the fire. She put her hands out to warm them by the flames. “Quark got you drunk, and you told him about the deflector. Then he told us. I thought you knew that.”  
  
A strange sort of embarrassment came over Damar as he absorbed the information. He had been responsible for his own failure. The worst part was, he didn’t even remember it. Even as Kira explained it to him in the simplest possible terms, he couldn’t recall any part of what she was describing. He had no recollection of drinking with Quark, much less revealing the Dominion’s entire plan to someone he _knew_ couldn’t be trusted. “Did I really do that?” he asked incredulously as he settled back down by the fire. “Or are you just trying to make me feel foolish?”  
  
“You really did that. Now I’m wondering what else you never figured out. This could be fun.”  
  
“I don’t think I relish the thought of spending our time here going over my many failures in the past,” Damar muttered into his arm—which also served as his pillow.  
  
Kira shrugged and tossed a few branches onto the fire. “That’s probably for the best. I can’t imagine how you would react to finding out about that misplaced padd.”  
  
“Now I’m certain you’re making up stories. I don’t recall any padd, except for the one that went missing from my—” His eyes quickly snapped to hers, and he saw there a barely concealed smile threatening to spill over into laughter. “That’s not funny!” he shouted, sitting up on his arm again. “You could have gotten me killed!”  
  
“That _was_ sort of the plan. Well,” she leaned back on her arms with her head canted to one side. “A bonus, I guess.”  
  
“A bonus—?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She actually seemed _amused_ by the memory of nearly ending his life at the hands of an incensed pack of Jem’Hadar!  
  
“Come on, we were enemies!” she laughed. “You can’t tell me you didn’t want me dead.”  
  
“I frequently fantasized about putting you in an airlock and opening the outer door, but I never tried to do it!”  
  
Kira’s smile suddenly disappeared, and she turned away from the fire to stretch out on the ground. Damar watched her back as she settled in. He had no idea what he’d said, or what memory he might have stirred with his careless comments. In the silence that followed, broken only by the crackle of the wood as it burned, he said, “I didn’t _really_ want to kill you.”  
  
“I know,” she said quietly. “It’s not that, anyway.”  
  
“If you’d like to talk about it…” He didn’t really expect her to take him up on his offer, of course, but it seemed like the right thing to say. He was shocked when she didn’t simply refuse.  
  
Kira turned over, carefully settling down on her injured side. “It’s Dukat,” she explained. Then she made a bitter face at the flames and sneered, “It’s _always_ Dukat.”  
  
Damar nodded. He understood all too well how hard Dukat had worked to infest her life. But there was more to it for Kira than simple disgust and anger, and he understood that, too. “May I ask—what you said to Nelara back at the prison, about your mother. Was that true?”  
  
“Do you think I would lie about that?” she asked. There was no anger in her question, only an underlying thread of something Damar couldn’t immediately identify. Sadness, perhaps?  
  
“No, I... I suppose some part of me simply _hoped_ that you had invented it. Perhaps to give Nelara a reason not to hate her own mother.”  
  
Kira sighed through her nose as she rolled onto her back. “How do you think my mother and Dukat would have conceived a child otherwise?” she asked.  
  
“Well… There could have been any number of reasons. The Occupation was a complicated, confusing time for many people. Casual romantic encounters were known to happen from time to time.”  
  
“Maybe that’s what someone told you, Damar, but most of the time it happened for the same reasons.” She held up a hand and raised three fingers. “Desperation. Necessity. Brute force.”  
  
“I’m sure there were exceptions.”  
  
“Yeah? Like what?”  
  
Despite the cold, Damar could feel the embarrassing heat rising in his skin as he said, “Love?”  
  
Kira laughed again, a cold, unkind sound that spoke volumes about her own feelings on the subject. “I’m sure some people managed to convince themselves that it was love, but I can’t believe that, can you? How can you call it love when the person you’re with has the power to send you away whenever they want? When they can snap their fingers and have you condemned to a labor camp, or snap your _neck_ and not even receive a reprimand for it? That’s not love, Damar. That’s exercising power on the weak and fearful, and it destroys lives.”  
  
“Like yours,” he said.  
  
He saw her eyes widen briefly as she stared at the top of the small cave, and then she took a deep breath and shook her head. “It wasn’t as bad as it could have been. After a while, none of us really even talked about her. Whenever my father said anything at all, it was to remind us of what a brave and wonderful woman she had been. That was all I needed.” She rolled toward him again. “But the truth is that she did what she had to do, like a lot of people. And while she may not have chosen to be with Dukat, it looks like she definitely made the most of it.”  
  
There was nothing he could say that seemed appropriate, and so Damar didn’t bother to try. He simply watched her as she watched the fire, and let the silence serve as his answer. After a while she closed her eyes, and the steady rise and fall of her chest indicated that she had finally fallen asleep. Damar was beyond exhausted himself, and he was sure he could have closed his eyes and followed without any effort at all. But something compelled him to stay awake. Some small detail that demanded his attention, and wouldn’t be silenced by the fatigue that tugged at the rest of him. Instead he lay there watching Kira as she slept, trying to discern the shape of a missing piece to a puzzle he couldn’t see.


	4. Chapter 4

The turbolift doors opened on another long hallway. This one was cast in the same menacing green light as the last, but much narrower and somehow even more austere. This space lacked the wide windows that provided a manufactured sense of breathing room, making Julian think back to his many experiences crawling through access shafts and Jefferies tubes, and how they seemed far more comfortable than the cramped corridors he was traversing now. At the far end of the hallway stood another set of armed guards, and a door with no fewer than three security seals visible from the outside. As he approached the locks began to disengage one by one, and the posted guards moved aside to give him room.  
  
“Thank you,” he said as he passed, not the least bit surprised when neither acknowledged him.  
  
Beyond the doors it seemed as though he had stepped directly into the image Captain Sisko had shown him during their meeting, albeit with a few minor differences. Most notable was the absence of  the small, locked stasis container on the pedestal. In its place there was a chair, and upon the chair sat the Founder.  
  
“Doctor Bashir,” she greeted as warmly as he imagined she was able or inclined. “I must confess my surprise. I gather you have come to see me?”  
  
“I have,” Julian answered. He took a seat in the chair that had been placed in front of her cell.  
  
“Please, forgive me for being so direct, but has something happened?” she asked quickly. “I do not receive a great deal of information during my brief periods out of stasis. Is Odo well?”  
  
“I’ve heard nothing to cause concern from the Gamma Quadrant,” Julian said honestly. “I can only assume that means all is well within the Link, and Odo.” While his directions regarding the questions he was meant to ask the Founder had been extensive, at no point had his mission briefing indicated that he was to withhold information regarding her own people from her. It would have struck him as incredibly cruel, given the nature of her species. And besides, what could she possibly do from stasis?  
  
“I am overjoyed to hear it,” she said, showing no signs of any real change in her emotional state. “In that case, how may I be of assistance to you, Doctor?”  
  
“Well, I have a few questions for you, if you wouldn’t mind answering them, but I’ve been told that you need some time to rest after coming out of stasis. Would you feel comfortable speaking with me again tomorrow?”  
  
She bowed her head slowly. “Of course. After all, I owe you a great deal of thanks. A simple conversation is the very least I can do to repay your efforts on behalf of my people.”  
  
“Thank you,” Julian said, feeling rather optimistic about what had begun as a daunting assignment. Perhaps it wouldn't be so uncomfortable, after all. “In that case, I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning.”  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
The cold seemed to invade her dreams, and Kira opened her eyes to find that Damar was already awake—assuming he had slept at all. He was sitting up, his knees tucked against his chest and his arms wrapped around his shins as he stared into the darkness outside. Beside him the fire had gone low. “Is something wrong?” she asked.  
  
“I’ve been thinking about Nelara.”  
  
Kira waited, expecting him to continue on his own. When he didn’t, she huffed a short sight and said, “And?”  
  
“She asked if you had also been abandoned by your mother, correct?”  
  
It was one of the more unfortunate parts of their conversation, and not one Kira was likely to forget; she nodded.  
  
“How did Nelara come to live in an orphanage?” he asked. He turned away from the night outside and looked at her.  
  
“I suppose that’s where Meru left her,” she said with a shrug. “Why do you ask?”  
  
Answering her question with another of his own, Damar said, “Why would Dukat have allowed your mother to abandon the child they had conceived together?”  
  
“Who knows?” She sat up and brushed the dirt from her uniform. “He must have taken Ziyal’s mother as his mistress around the same time, I guess he was losing interest in Meru. It doesn’t surprise me. Nelara is lucky he didn’t just decide to kill her when she was born.” She could still recall holding the phaser to his head, ready to fire if he didn’t agree to spare Ziyal. She should have killed him anyway.  
  
Damar leaned closer, nearly thrusting his chest into the flames. If they had been any higher he would have caught fire. “He didn’t _know_ about Nelara,” he declared excitedly, as though it was his own life that hung on the balance of Dukat’s crimes, and not hers.  
  
But Kira was still skeptical. The chances of her mother managing to hide a pregnancy from Dukat seemed slim, even if he had already moved on to a new lover. There were factors that might have aided a successful escape, but so much of that information had come directly from Dukat himself; could any of it be trusted? Based on her experiences the answer was a resounding _no_. But then again, she realized with a hollow pang of discomfort, he had been brutally honest about everything else regarding her mother. Kira repressed a shudder at the thought of his late-night call from the stolen runabout, and how it had upended her life.  
  
“From what you’ve said, your mother was willing to give up her family in order to protect them,” Damar continued. “I know almost nothing else about her, but I cannot imagine the same woman would be willing to abandon her own child for the sake of convenience. Not unless she felt that it was the only possible choice.”  
  
Kira had to admit that it _was_ a compelling theory, and if Dukat had been telling the truth about sending Meru to a hospital when she fell ill, it could account for her success hiding the pregnancy. Or was it just that she wanted so much to believe in her mother again, if only in some small way? To think that perhaps she and Nelara had both jumped to conclusions about Meru. “It’s possible,” she said finally. “She must have known Dukat wouldn’t keep her around forever. And if she suspected he had taken another mistress, then—”  
  
“Then a pregnancy at that point may have meant her death, and likely the child’s, as well,” he finished for her. “If not that, then she would have been cast aside with nothing. No home, no one to provide her with food and shelter, and no other family. Just a constant struggle to survive, and a reminder of the life she had been forced to live with the man she didn’t love.” He finished and settled back down on the ground next to the fire. Having revealed his grand conclusion he seemed to have exhausted what little strength he had left, and his shoulders sagged as he waited for her response.  
  
Kira chewed on the theory for a while. If he _was_ right, then Meru had saved both the lives of her family and Nelara’s. Possibly at the cost of her own. But did that redeem her?  
  
She tossed another piece of wood on the fire and drew her legs up close to her body to stop her shivering. “You should get some sleep,” she said. “I’ll keep an eye out.”  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Emrol was waiting for Julian when he exited the containment room. “I thought I wouldn’t see you again until this evening” he said to the Bajoran.  
  
“I was hoping we could talk a little before then,” Emrol explained. “And, if I’m being honest, I was curious to hear how your first meeting went. We haven't exactly had a lot of luck the few times we've tried to communicate with her.”  
  
“And here I would have thought you’d be monitoring our conversation,” Julian said, smiling so as not to seem like he was accusing his hosts of being untrusting.  
  
“If we hadn’t been told that your mission was top secret, we would have.”  
  
Julian frowned; he couldn’t help but notice that there had been no attempt to mark the reply as humor. “Of course. Well, while we discuss that, perhaps you could show me around the rest of the facility?”  
  
They began to walk, leaving behind the cramped corridor and heading for the turbolift. “I’m sorry to say that there isn’t much else to see. Most of this installation is still empty, we just have no use for a majority of what the Romulans left behind.” Emrol laughed at some private joke that obviously wasn’t intended for Julian. “You see, Doctor, when the Federation asked the Bajoran government to take custody of the Founder, and Derna was selected as the location of her prison, our only real problem was deciding which room to convert into a holding cell.”  
  
“You had no reservations on the matter?”  
  
“Personally?” Emrol asked.  
  
Julian shook his head. “No, I just meant that… Forgive me, but it seems as if the Bajoran people are hardly in a position to defend themselves, much less protect someone who is perhaps _the_ single most hated individual in the Alpha Quadrant. Surely you could have refused?”  
  
Emrol smiled. He tapped something into the panel on the side of the turbolift carriage and it began its ascent up to the higher levels of the facility. “I’m sure you know we’re still hoping for Federation membership, Doctor.”  
  
Of course, the Bajoran government must have believed that the Federation’s request was merely a formality, and that there was an obvious expectation of cooperation. After decades dealing with the Cardassians that was hardly surprising. Then again, perhaps they hadn't been wrong at all. The Founder would be a target no matter where she was held, and Earth had already suffered one devastating attack on her behalf. Would the Federation really put a potential ally in such jeopardy just to assuage its own fears of safety?

No, that couldn't be the case. The Federation was built on much stronger principals than that. “I am certain that putting yourselves at additional risk was unnecessary,” Julian insisted. “There must have been a number of suitable candidates aside from Bajor.”  
  
“I don’t know if the Council of Ministers would agree with you about that first part. But,” Emrol paused as the turbolift came to a stop, “while our military may not be the best equipped or the largest in the Alpha Quadrant, I think even you would admit that we have fashioned ourselves some truly impressive teeth here on Derna.”  
  
They exited the turbolift, coming once again upon the long hallway overlooking the weapons bay. Unlike Emrol, Julian wasn’t filled with an overwhelming sense of security as he viewed the scene below; it seemed to him that Bajor had taken exactly the wrong sort of lesson from the Occupation. They had confused strength with the ability to destroy. He nearly said as much to Emrol, but the proud smile on his host’s face stopped him. His concerns regarding Bajor’s arming of Derna could be addressed at another time and place. “You know,” he said, “I just realized that there is a part of this facility I haven’t seen yet.”  
  
Emrol furrowed his brow and frowned. “There is?”  
  
“You haven’t shown me to where I’ll be _staying_.”  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
“You’ve been staring at that fire for an hour.”  
  
“I’m thinking,” Kira said. “And you were supposed to be asleep.”  
  
Damar sat up and pushed himself back until he could rest against the closest boulder. “About your mother?” he asked, ignoring her criticism.  
  
She nodded. “I think you might be right about her and Dukat,” she said, shaking her head. “But I don’t know what it means if you are.”  
  
That was a question only she could answer. He might have told her as much, but he knew she was already well aware of the dilemma; nothing could give her closure but her own mind, and it was her own mind that tormented her. With a long sigh he looked out over the treeline outside the small shelter. Dawn was approaching, and the first hint of light was visible through the naked branches above. The morning would bring warmer temperatures, but the prospect was hardly soothing. Cold was cold. On top of that, another day in the wilderness meant more time spent worrying over the possibility of being located by whoever it was that had planted the bomb, assuming they were being hunted. And If their allies were looking for them, which they undoubtedly were, hiding from hypothetical enemies would slow their rescue as much as it protected them. “I hope we don’t outrun our own rescue party,” he muttered.  
  
“The Bajoran Militia has some of the best trackers in the sector,” Kira said confidently. “They’ll find us.”  
  
Damar wrapped his arms around himself and tried to suppress a chill. “I hope they bring thermal blankets.”  
  
She chuckled, and Damar found he couldn’t help but smile at the situation. He should have been ashamed to appear so helpless in front of her, so weak, and useless in the face of a threat. Instead he was only glad of her company, such as it was. The realization felt beneath him. He decided to ignore it. “At least I can be comforted by the thought that Kren is undoubtedly enjoying my absence,” he said with a resigned sigh.  
  
“You don’t think he’s panicking right now?”  
  
“Oh, not at all. He’s grown quite comfortable acting as the unofficial head of state whenever the circumstances call for it. I think he’s starting to think he can do the job better than I can. He might be right.” Damar thought back to the last time he had listened to the older Cardassian wax drunkenly about rebuilding their beloved homeworld. The way he spoke of the Union like his own child, Damar had half expected him to stomp outside and start piling bricks with his own two hands.  
  
“Maybe this is all his idea,” Kira said with a playful smile.  
  
“Don’t think I haven’t considered it.” Allowing the populace to elect their representatives for the Civil Assembly had caused enough problems, Damar could only imagine the chaos a campaign for supreme leadership would generate. Perhaps it would be easier if Kren were to simply usurp his power; Damar was almost certain he could manage to successfully fake his death a second time, if their mysterious saboteurs didn’t manage it first.  
  
Dawn had come in full force by then, and the muted gray sky gave way to a wash of pink and orange as the sun reached up over the empty canopy outside. For a few minutes before the blue of day took hold it reminded Damar of the afternoon sky on Cardassia Prime, and he felt unbearably homesick. Maybe, he considered briefly, it was just a desire to go back to the routine he had established for himself. To pretend Kira wasn’t a part of his life anymore. It was so much easier to ignore the empty feeling when she wasn’t close enough to touch. When her eyes weren’t there to pass over him and look away uncomfortably.  
  
_Tell her you’re sorry,_ a selfish thought urged. _You made a mistake. Take it back._  
  
But it wasn’t his to take back.  
  
As if she could read his thoughts, Kira asked, “Do you think things might have been easier if we hadn’t let ourselves get so close?”  
  
The question left Damar momentarily speechless; she had randomly struck upon the lie of omission he once convinced himself was better left forgotten. The lie that, in retrospect, might have only served to damn their chance at happiness in the end. Swallowing back the lump that had formed in his throat, he said, “I don’t know, perhaps. If we hadn’t—”  
  
“I’m sorry, I keep doing that. I shouldn’t bring it up at all.” She shook her head and sighed.  
  
“No, it’s…” Damar looked around nervously and tried to think of a way to tell her the truth without revealing his selfish mistake. But of course the only real way was through honesty. “It would have been easier,” he said.  
  
Kira shrugged. “There’s no way to know for sure.”  
  
“No, I know it would have been.”  
  
She turned to him, narrowing her eyes over the fire. “What are you trying to say?”  
  
And there it was, the point where there could be no turning back. He could only admit to his lie and be done with it. Perhaps, he thought somewhat selfishly, she would decide she hated him. Knowing there was nothing at all between them would make living without her so much easier. “I didn’t tell you everything about my orb experience,” he admitted.  
  
Kira was silent, and Damar took that as an invitation—or a demand—to explain. He took a deep breath and said, “At one point Sisko asked me what I really wanted, and I thought of you. Of course I wanted other things, too, but...“ He shook his head. “He told me what I had to do would be easier if I let you go, but I refused. _I_ made this harder for both of us.” When she still said nothing, a bubble of panic started to rise in his chest, and Damar began searching for some way to explain himself. “That was how I knew you couldn’t really be dead,” he said. “Why would Sisko, why would the captain sacrifice you so carelessly?“ He watched her eyes, totally devoid of any discernible expression, and felt indignity chase the end of his embarrassment. “Would you please _say_ something?” he snapped.  
  
“You really think that your choice to stay in a relationship decided the course of countless events, some probably already set in motion long before you ever talked to the captain?” She laughed, and Damar staring in shock from the other side of the fire didn’t seem to bother her at all. “Remind me to never underestimate the size of the Cardassian ego.”  
  
His mouth worked silently and he made a quiet, strangled sound. “I’m telling you I chose the wrong path, and you are mocking my arrogance?”  
  
“The _Prophets_ choose our path, Damar.” She shook her head and shrugged with her arms. “Or maybe they just choose mine. But either way, I don’t think you condemned us to a more difficult life by wanting to hold onto something that made you happy.”  
  
“It does seem somewhat self-important when you say it like that,” he muttered.  
  
“Somewhat?”  
  
Damar frowned at her, and the mirthful glimmer in her eyes only made him feel twice as foolish. Eager to change the subject, he said, “You called it a relationship before.” The brief surge of hope he'd felt upon hearing her say it the first time had been snuffed by his own common sense, but he still wanted her to say it again; to acknowledge what they’d had. “Is that how you thought of it?” he asked.  
  
She hesitated, and then said, “I think it would be a lie if I said no.”  
  
Emotion and altruism clashed like warring armies in his mind, and Damar fought to keep his undeserved elation from showing. Perhaps she _had_ thought of it that way at one time, but there was no reason to believe she still felt anything for him, or even wanted to. Dukat’s legacy had seen to it that she couldn’t. “I appreciate that you were willing to tell me that,” he said as indifferently as possible.  
  
“I never said that I didn’t—”  
  
Without warning a gold beam sliced through the air above Damar’s head, striking the boulder behind him. They both ducked for cover, safe only for a few scant seconds in the shower of dust and pebbles that fell around them. It was Kira who moved first; she shot up from the ground and made a break for the side of the overhang, taking Damar’s sleeve in hand as she went. He struggled to lift himself up onto his good leg, hobbling along behind her to what he could only hope was safety.  
  
“That was Cardassian disruptor fire!” Kira shouted as she ran. She looked over her shoulder and caught sight of Damar limping behind her as they broke from the treeline onto open ground. “Hurry up!”  
  
“I am _trying!_ ” He could feel the wound in his leg tearing, and the sickly warmth of fresh blood as it rolled down his cold skin. “Kira, I can’t—I can’t run like this!” he called out between desperate gasps. “We need to find a place to hide!”  
  
“There _is_ nowhere to hide! Our only other option is to die, which do you prefer?!”  
  
They wouldn’t make it. Damar could feel his body giving out, surrendering to hunger and exhaustion. Every step was agony, and the pain from his leg had traveled up to his hip, leaving him little more than a desperate limp to go on. Up ahead he could see Kira flagging as well, and he knew it was only a matter of time before they were overtaken by their pursuers.  
  
Unless they split up. But that wouldn’t be enough, would it? Damar unconsciously shook his head at his own bad idea; Kira could make it, perhaps, but he couldn’t outrun an overweight Ferengi in his current state. All he could do was wait for the inevitable. Wait, and possibly buy Kira the time she needed to get away. If he stopped, if he allowed himself to be captured or killed, would they ignore her? Without a doubt _he_ was their intended target. And he was the one hindering their escape. It was only logical if he allowed himself to be—  
  
“Don’t even _think_ about it!” Kira yelled back to him.  
  
How could she have _possibly_ known what he was planning? “You,” he wheezed, fighting to keep the air in his lungs, “are no Betazoid, stay out of my head!”  
  
“I’m no fool, either! If you stop, I’ll stop. So don’t try anything heroic—”

Damar watched in horror as a single shot caught her between the shoulders. Her own forward momentum sent her into a wild tumble, and she landed in a heap between the patches of tall grass and rocks, the dirt kicked up from her fall rising in a cloud around her limp body. It happened so fast that Damar had run right past her before he could think to slow himself. He tried to stop and turn back for her, but it was too late; their attackers were closing fast, and in the fraction of a second it took to fully assess the futility of the situation, they had already raised their weapons and taken aim at him.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Julian sat patiently as he watched the Founder morph herself into several abstract shapes, oozing around the small cell while stretched and flexed her form. When she returned to her humanoid guise she folded her hands in her lap and lifted the corners of her thin mouth in an approximation of a smile. “My apologies for keeping you waiting, Doctor Bashir. It is not often I find myself with an opportunity to take any shape other than this one. As I’m sure you can imagine, it gets quite tiresome.”  
  
“Do you experience fatigue from maintaining one shape for an extended period?”  
  
She tilted her head for a moment and then shook it gently. “No, not in the way a solid such as yourself might. It is much more like… _frustration_ ,” she said, seeming pleased to have come up with the appropriate word. “Imagine if you were never able to change your clothing. You might begin to understand what it is like for us to only ever exist as one shape.”  
  
“But when you’re in stasis…”  
  
“Ah,” she said, “but when I am in stasis, I lack awareness of my form, such as it is.”  
  
Julian nodded. “I suppose, in that case, your frustration makes a great deal of sense. If you would like to change again—”  
  
“Thank you, but no,” the Founder said, nodding appreciatively. “I am certain that my keepers would intercede, and I would not wish for you to lose any more of your valuable time. Please.” She held out a hand. “Begin your interview.”  
  
“Very well,” Julian said. He lifted the padd he had brought with him and glanced at the notes he’d jotted down the night before. “I’ll be brief in my summary of what has prompted Starfleet to look to you for answers. As you were undoubtedly made aware during your trial, the Cardassian Union has faced a great deal of social and economic instability since the end of the war. And while Legate Damar has made considerable strides in his efforts to—”  
  
“ _Damar?!_ ” the Founder hissed. “Do you mean to tell me that traitorous reptile is _still alive?_ ” Her placid, peaceful facade twisted—quite literally—into an expression of pure loathing and the closest to true hate that Julian had ever seen. He forced himself to remain seated in his chair. Around the room the guards nervously gripped and re-gripped their weapons, watching the holding cell intently. Seeing the changes in the room, the Founder quickly schooled herself back to the same quiet grace she had maintained up to that point, and her features returned to normal. “I apologize for my outburst, Doctor. Please, continue.”  
  
“Are you certain…?”  
  
“Quite. I assure you, it will not happen again.”  
  
Julian cleared his throat and adjusted himself in his own chair. He was keen to find some way of explaining the situation without mentioning Damar a second time, but there really was no way around it. He cleared his throat and said, “Legate… Damar has made every attempt to shore up the Union since his return to power, with the help of the Federation. They believe it’s in everyone’s best interests to keep the Cardassians stable. As I’m sure you are aware, a wounded Cardassian Union makes for a dangerous neighbor.”  
  
“A fact my people took great advantage of,” the Founder said. “And now you wonder if perhaps we are doing it once again? I assure you, Doctor, the Dominion would not make the same mistake twice. Aligning ourselves with Cardassia was a foolish error that will never be repeated. And with Odo in the Link, I am quite confident that you have nothing to worry about when it comes to Dominion encroachment on the Alpha Quadrant.”  
  
“That’s very comforting to hear, of course,” Julian began. He cut himself off with a frown.  
  
“But you have more questions?”  
  
“There have been several attempts made on Damar’s life since his return.”  
  
“I hope you won’t think me rude if I say that I do not find that in the least bit surprising,” the Founder said.  
  
Given her reaction to the news that Damar was still alive, Julian might have thought she would be pleased to hear that he had nearly died on more than one occasion. Her response was mildly puzzling. “Why do you say that?” he asked.  
  
“Before I answer, I wish to address what I can only assume, now that I have been made aware of the extent of the situation, to be the true purpose behind your visit. No,” she said, shaking her head, “the Dominion has not sent any assassins to kill Damar.”  
  
“How can you be so sure?” Julian asked. “You’ve been in stasis for nearly two years. Cut off from the Dominion entirely.”  
  
“I can be sure because I know my people, Doctor Bashir. Just as you know yourself. We stand to gain nothing from undertaking such actions, and would only risk igniting another conflict.” She held out a hand toward him. “Now, if you wish, you may ask your question a second time.”  
  
“Why do you find it so unsurprising that someone other than the Dominion would want to kill Damar? Destabilizing Cardassia would only put most of their enemies at risk,” Julian explained. “Even the Romulans and the Klingons know better than to corner a wounded animal.” Their leadership, at least, and for that Julian could only be grateful.  
  
The Founder cocked her head and smiled. “You are quite clever,” she said with an air of natural superiority. “Far more so than a great many solids I have encountered. But I do wonder at how blind you can be when you do not wish to see the obvious truth.” For all that her serene expression never faltered, she seemed for just a moment to have embarrassed herself. “Oh, I apologize if I’ve offended you, Doctor.”  
  
“Not at all, er…” Julian realized then that he had no idea exactly _how_ to address her, other than _Founder_ , or _changeling_. The latter he was almost certain she would find offensive were he to use it, and the former struck far too close to the Vorta’s mincing deference for his taste. “You were saying?”  
  
“Given that you are so uniquely intelligent, of all your kind surely _you_ could examine the evidence and come to a satisfactory conclusion on your own? After all, Damar has created so many enemies with his actions. Who among them could you imagine might seek revenge for his misdeeds? Who has the most cause to go to such lengths? Ponder that, and I believe you will have your answer.”  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Kira knelt on the ground with her hands clasped behind her head. The effort of holding her arms up made the injury to her left shoulder sting as furiously as a fresh plasma burn, and the residual twitching from having been stunned by their attackers wasn’t helping much, either. She clenched her teeth as one of them walked up and kicked her squarely in the back, sending her sprawling onto her face in the grass.  
  
“Don’t touch her!” Damar snarled. They had him sitting on the ground, pinned down by the muzzle of a disruptor pressed against his head.  
  
“You don’t give orders to us, _Legate,_ ” one of the men sneered.  
  
Kira tried to look around without being obvious about it; their captors were all Cardassian, and all armed to the teeth. It was clear they had come prepared to face opposition, maybe even return fire, and their opening salvo easily could have been a deadly one. So why wasn’t it? She had counted six, but it was impossible to say how many more there could be keeping watch from higher ground. The rocky slope provided ample coverage for anyone looking to stay out of sight.  
  
“We were only told to keep your Bajoran bitch alive, not what condition she had to be in,” the same one continued. “So I’d watch your mouth if I were you.”  
  
Kira pushed herself up onto her hands and knees and fought the urge to get them both killed by doing something stupid. From the corner of her eye she spotted the boots of the man standing beside Damar: they were patched in several places, and the creases of the leather were caked in dried mud. The rest of his clothes were shabby, and he had the same slightly hungered look about him as Damar had the first time she encountered him on Bajor.  
  
They were migrant workers, just as he had been. Obviously planted by whoever it was pulling the strings from behind the scenes. Kira did her best to hold back a satisfied smile as she sat back on her heels and resumed her previous position. At least they finally knew _something_ about Damar’s mysterious enemies. It could even account for how they had managed to poison him only hours after he was brought to the hospital, if she was willing to accept the possibility that whoever led these men was already looking for Damar long before she found him.  
  
“Get up,” one of the men snapped at Damar. He was older than the others, and moved more like a soldier. A large scar ran the length of his face, and the ridge appeared to have been torn away, making him look lopsided.  
  
“I _can’t_. My leg is injured,” Damar said.  
  
“I said—” The scarred Cardassian reached down hauled Damar onto his feet, forcing him to stand on his bad leg. “ _Get up!_ ”  
  
Damar wavered in place, pain etched into his features as he tried to balance himself and remain upright. He held the position just long enough to suffer a vicious kick to the back of his knee and then quickly collapsed again, landing hard and hissing through his teeth as he clutched at the makeshift bandage on his leg.  
  
“Pathetic,” one of the others spat.  
  
“I don’t know why we can’t just kill him and be done with it,” another said. His voice was shaky, nervous. Kira wondered if she could exploit that somehow. But six-to-two were poor odds, and with Damar as good as crippled, it was unlikely she could do enough damage on her own to keep either one of them from getting shot.  
  
“We have our orders,” the scarred soldier growled at the other two. “Get them ready for transport. We need to be out of here before the Militia search parties find us.”  
  
Someone snorted. “The _Bajoran Militia_. Back when this world was ours—”  
  
“But it _isn’t_ ours anymore. We’re fighting a different war, and we’re in enemy territory. Stay sharp and shut up.”  
  
The one who had been interrupted muttered a few nasty words, and a moment later Kira was pulled up onto her feet by her hair. She bit back a shout and tried to resist the urge to fight. Beside her one of the men pulled back his leg and kicked Damar first in the ribs, and then once in the side of his head as he rolled over groaning in pain. “They’re ready as they’ll ever be,” he sneered, following it up by spitting on the ground in front of Damar. “Send word that we’re prepared for transport.”


	5. Chapter 5

“How’s your leg?” Kira whispered.

Damar kept his head down, peering up from beneath his brow to find her looking his way. Their captors had finally allowed her to drop her arms, but the price was two disruptors aimed at the back of her head from roughly three meters away. Damar thought that rather odd compared to his one—until he remembered the excessive restraints Nelara had used on her before; whoever it was pulling the strings, they clearly felt that Kira was the one to worry about. He tried not to feel insulted by that. At least for the moment, it was sadly true. “No worse,” he muttered under his breath. “But no better, either. I won’t be able to fight.”

“I don’t need you to fight,” she said, quickly dropping her eyes to the ground as one of their captors walked past. When he was out of earshot she looked up again and said, “I need you to run.”

“I won’t leave you behind.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Damar. Getting you out of here is a lot more important,” she said.

He shook his head. “Not to me.”

One of the men, whom Damar had picked apart from the others due to the long, jagged scar down the side of his face, suddenly broke away from the group and stomped over to them. He had his weapon drawn, and he aimed it at Kira as he shouted, “I warned you both about talking, didn’t I?” He turned to Damar. “How would you like me to put a hole in her leg to match yours?”

Deciding on a bold maneuver, Damar raised his chin and looked down his nose at Kira. “What makes you think I would care?” he asked. “She’s only my security escort.”

The scarred man dropped his shoulders and gave Damar a skeptical look. “Really,” he sneered. Slinging the disruptor rifle over his shoulder, he reached down with his other hand and grasped Kira’s wounded shoulder, digging his fingers into her flesh. She yelped in pain and surprise and jerked away from him, glaring daggers at Damar.

“Let go of her!” Damar shouted. His outburst was quickly tempered by the sight of the weapons that had been aimed at Kira turning his way, instead.

“Just your escort, right? Now, keep quiet, or I’ll do a lot more than grab her shoulder next time.”

“If you had the courage to face me like a true soldier—”

A blow to the head with the side of a rifle butt was the only answer he received for his efforts. The scarred Cardassian stepped away to rejoin his companions after that, and Damar groaned quietly at the fresh pain radiating from his newest injury. When he caught Kira frowning at him he tried to shrug. “You might be pleased to know that you hit harder,” he muttered.

“I’m not. What was your plan, exactly?”

He flexed his jaw and rubbed at his cheek. He would be lucky if he made it to his own execution in one piece. “I thought perhaps if I could convince him you weren’t important, they might let you go. One less prisoner to worry about.”

“Brilliant, Damar. What if he had just decided to shoot me?”

Damar paused, his mouth still hanging open mid-stretch. After a moment he closed it and frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I’m shocked,” Kira mumbled sarcastically. She turned just enough to glance over her shoulder. “They don’t seem to have anywhere to take us, do they?”

“Whatever it was that happened to their rendezvous, it seems to have put them on edge. We may be in even more danger than before. Perhaps we should do as they say.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said. “You told me Kren had never been able to get any of the saboteurs to talk, right?” When Damar nodded she cocked her head back to indicate the group of Cardassians over her shoulder. “This is the closest we’ve ever come to finding out who is behind all of this.”

“Kira, we’re hardly in a position to dig for information.” They couldn’t even raise their voices above a whisper for fear of reprisal.

“Are we? If we can get them talking, we might be able to figure out who they’re working for.”

Damar shook his head. “They haven’t responded very positively to our attempts to communicate up to now.”

“Wrong. They haven’t responded very positively to _you_. If I can…” She stopped, staring past Damar’s shoulder at something he didn’t dare turn to see. With their captors so close it seemed foolish to tempt fate, though Kira seemed to have a much easier time of it. The men were almost singularly focused on tormenting him, and only used threats against her as a way to control his actions.

He waited for her explanation, but eventually his impatience won over. “ _What?_ ” he demanded when she didn’t answer. “Kira, what is behind me?”

She hunched over and lowered her head. “Get down,” she whispered. When he didn't immediately follow her instructions, she lunged forward without warning, tackling him to the ground. “I said get down!” she shouted. She pinned him there with her arms covering both of their heads. “Don’t you _ever_ listen?” she hissed as the first muffled sounds of battle reached him.

Beyond the protective cover her arms provided Damar could hear weapons firing rapidly, too many to count amidst the clamor of their captors shouting and the pounding of boots over the ground around them. He tried to turn his head but Kira held him still, pinning him in place despite his struggles. “ _Just stay still,_ ” she breathed in his ear, and Damar nodded. His heart was hammering against the wall of his chest, and he couldn’t decide if it was from fear or the feeling of Kira’s body atop his own; her skin was so close to his, and the feeling of warm air brushing his ear ridge made his pulse quicken. He wanted to be ashamed of his sudden urge to reach up and wrap his arms around her, but it was difficult to find fault with himself when it seemed possible that they might die at any second.

The firefight ended in silence, and Damar dared a glance past Kira’s arm to find that they were surrounded by a cloud of smoke. The acrid smell of burning flesh snaked past the cover of her body, and he fought the urge to gag.

Kira looked up and smiled. “Looks like we’ve been rescued,” she said, pushing herself up off his chest. When she was on her feet she offered him a hand, but Damar politely declined. Even if he had been able to stand, he had no desire to make himself a seventh target on the battlefield. It was still Bajor, after all.

The air around them finally started to clear, and Damar turned around to look for their saviors. He found himself facing a squad of Bajoran Militia coming through the trees.

Led by Ilpal.

“Unbelievable,” he sighed. It was no wonder they had chosen her to take over for Odo. She was indestructible.

Around them their captors lay scattered amongst the rocks and tall grass, most dead or dying. At least one was still breathing, and he stretched his arm toward his rifle as he spied the approaching Militia forces. It was Kira’s foot on his wrist that stilled his futile efforts to defend himself. “I wouldn’t,” she warned.

“You two are lucky!” Ilpal called out to them. She gestured to the officers accompanying her, sending them all running to secure the scene and inspect the defeated Cardassians. In an impressively short time they had covered the entire area, including the high slope above, and Damar finally felt free to relax. The irony of the situation was not lost on him. He chose not to dwell on it for his own sake.

Ilpal lifted a hand to acknowledge him and smiled when he waved weakly in return. “We’ve been all over this range looking for you. The entire militia was mobilized.”

The thought of the first minister putting Bajor’s entire military force to work just to locate him was more embarrassing than he cared to admit. Damar comforted himself with the thought that Kira’s whereabouts were likely just as important to Shakaar. “Do you happen to have a doctor with you?” he asked. Even Bashir’s assistance would have been welcomed at that point. His leg was throbbing, likely infected from Kira’s ridiculous plant paste, and the additional injuries he had suffered at the hands of their attackers didn’t feel much better.

Ilpal turned and waved over one of the nearby soldiers. “First Lieutenant Selere will get you on your feet,” she said, pointing to Damar as the young woman approached with a small, square case. “We’ll take care of anything a field kit can’t handle back at the first minister’s residence.”

Kira turned to him and lifted an eyebrow. “I take that to mean you and Shakaar are on speaking terms again?”

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.” Damar winced and jerked his leg as Selere turned it to get a better look at his injury. “But I imagine he doesn’t want to risk losing track of me again. It doesn’t look very good to keep misplacing visiting dignitaries.”

“That’s a good point.” She stepped away from the injured Cardassian under her foot as two Bajoran deputies took custody of him. With a quiet grunt of pain she reached down and picked up his rifle. “I don’t suppose you want to tell us who you’re working for?” she asked him, tilting the weapon back and forth in front of his face. Damar noted that he was the one with the scar. He had sustained a phaser injury to the side of his abdomen—nonfatal, but certainly painful.

When he failed to respond, Kira shrugged and reached out, grasping his side where the flesh and cloth had been burned through. She twisted her fist and leaned in close to him. “I’m a little tired from spending the last few hours waiting around for a bunch of incompetent Cardassian farmhands to figure out what to do. So you’ll have to forgive me if I’m not feeling very patient right now. _Who are you working for?_ ”

The man winced in pain, grinding his teeth as he screwed his eyes shut and tried to curl around the source of his agony, but he said nothing. Finally Kira let go and stepped back. “Did any of the others make it?” she asked Ilpal.

“Two more. We’ll take all three back to the capital with us for interrogation.”

Kira nodded. She waited for the officer tending Damar’s leg to finish, and then asked, “Feeling better?”

Damar turned his leg to inspect the newly knitted flesh. “Much better,” he said. He pushed himself up onto his feet and brushed some of the dirt from his jacket. It was torn in several places and stained with blood—likely ruined. He still ached all over, and he longed to take a hot bath, but regardless of his discomfort he lifted his chin and squared his shoulders.

Ilpal put her hands on her hips and looked over them both with a quick, satisfied sigh. “Let’s get you two back to civilization, shall we?”

 

*

 

Julian tucked the book he had been reading back into his bag and pulled the zipper shut. His trip to Derna had initially seemed exciting, perhaps even a little bit dangerous when the Captain had first handed him the assignment. He had certainly felt nervous, and it was quite a relief to find that his presuppositions about the Founder's willingness to cooperate were incorrect. But after concluding his interview, and learning nothing of any real value, he was left with the discouraging suspicion that he had been sent there on a meaningless expedition for nothing more than the satisfaction of the Federation. That there was absolutely nothing of substance to be learned from someone who had spent the better part of two years as an inert liquid.

He had wasted his own time, and only managed to come away feeling bitter and disillusioned with his own allies, to say nothing of the potential implications behind the request to utilize Derna as a prison in the first place. But it was Bajor’s artillery collection that concerned him most. Really, _six thousand_ plasma torpedoes? He couldn’t imagine what the Federation would make of such excessive armaments when Bajor resubmitted itself for membership. Even allowing for the extraordinary circumstances of the Founder’s presence, anything more than few hundred torpedoes seemed to reach far outside the realm of a rational defense.

As he lifted the strap of his bag over his shoulder, the door to his quarters chimed. Julian was almost certain it would be Emrol on the other side. No doubt the Bajoran bureaucrat was eager for one more opportunity to visit with his guest. Julian supposed it was a rare occasion when anyone popped by the lonely moon, after all. “Come in,” he called.

The door opened and Julian discovered that it was indeed Emrol, just as he had predicted, but he was accompanied by a host of armed guards. “Take him,” Emrol commanded, and three of the men stomped into the room with their weapons drawn.

“Now, hold on—” Julian tried to object, but he was quickly seized and his arms drawn behind his back. “What’s the meaning of this? I haven’t done anything at all to warrant this sort of treatment!”

“I’m sorry to say you have, Doctor Bashir. Whether or not you’re aware of it is a matter for Starfleet to decide. His things,” he said to one of the guards, gesturing to where Julian’s bag had fallen on the floor. The guard bent down and retrieved it, immediately ripping the pouch open and dumping the contents onto the bed. Out tumbled the few personal effects Julian had brought with him for the trip.

“You’ve already searched my bag,” Julian said angrily. “You found nothing before, you’ll find nothing now! This is ridiculous!”

The guards began to tear apart his belongings, ripping seams and breaking anything that wasn’t able to be torn. The sound of destruction filled the room, and Julian could only watch helplessly as everything he owned was destroyed.

“I’ll have you know that I will be filing a formal complaint with the Bajoran government, and Starfleet, and I will personally see to it that you are—”

“Here,” one of the guards interrupted. He pulled back the lining of the book Julian had been reading to reveal a flat metal sliver embedded in the cover. After a quick scan he plucked the object from its hiding place and handed it to Emrol.

“Well, Doctor Bashir?” Emrol asked expectantly. “Do you care to explain this?”

“I don’t even know what _this_ is!” Julian snapped. “Now, let me go, and perhaps we can figure out wh—” Suddenly the warbling call of the facility’s Romulan alarm sounded, cutting him off and bathing the room in red as the entire complex went on alert.

Emrol looked down at the sliver in his hand; the end was glowing, pulsing a bright yellow from within the metal casing. “Bring him,” he ordered, quickly exiting the room with half the guards in tow.

“What’s is that?” Julian demanded. He struggled in the arms of his hosts-turned-captors, but it was a fruitless effort. They held him tight and ushered him out into the hall. “ _Someone tell me what is going on!_ ”

 

*

 

Kira smoothed the front of her new uniform a few times, watching herself in the tall mirror set into the wall beside her bedroom door. She still had bruises, one or two on her face that could have been healed with a tissue regenerator, but the thought of spending another minute in the medical ward had her nearly crawling out of her own skin. She wanted to be clean, to eat something, and to be alone with her own mind. The crash and all that had happened afterwards left her without a moment to herself for the better part of two days—apart from the brief periods when Damar had managed to fall asleep. It had been almost impossible to gather her thoughts with the threat of an attack and the need to survive until they were rescued looming over her shoulder. Now that she was somewhere safe, somewhere she could take the time to focus on her thoughts and meditate on what she had learned, it seemed silly not to use it. She had nowhere to be on Bajor, no duties to attend. At least for the rest of the evening her time was hers alone.

Until the gentle tones of the door rang to announce a visitor. “Come in,” she sighed.

The door opened to admit Shakaar, arms clasped behind his back and a wide smile on his face as he sauntered in. “You look much better,” he said.

“I _feel_ better. Thank you again, Edon.” She gave up her attempts to eliminate all the wrinkles in the new fabric from her uniform and stepped away from the mirror.

“And these quarters are comfortable enough for you? I can find you something different if you’d like.”

Kira waved her hand. “They’re fine. They’re not the woods,” she added with a small laugh. “You know, I don’t know what they had planned for us, but if whoever it was they were waiting on had actually been on time—”

“No sense worrying about that now,” Shakaar said. “What matters is that you and the Legate are safe. Oh, and...” He swung one hand around from behind his back to produce a small leather box. “These are yours.”

Kira reached out to cautiously pluck the box from Shakaar’s palm. She opened it to find a new set of rank pins, and a communicator in the same polished silver as her insignia. Her old one had been a muted, brassy color. It seemed strange to be able to see herself in the metal. “This is fancy.”

“Call it a congratulatory gift. For… not dying, I suppose. Actually, I think they’re just being made that way now. We’ve gotten a few shipments of beritium scrap from the Cardassians along with the other goods they’ve sent our way. It’s a decent metal, no sense in not using it.”

She shook her head and muttered, “It was probably ours to begin with anyway.” She turned back to the mirror and started placing the metal pins on her uniform. “It’s a good thing the Ferengi are supplying them with construction materials. They wouldn’t have anything left to rebuild with otherwise.”

He shrugged. “Right now they don’t have the means to repurpose most of what’s still floating around their empire. Sending it to us is the only way it’ll get used. And it satisfies part of their debt. A small part.” He sat down on the arm of the couch and crossed his arms. “Nerys, are you letting your anger with Damar bleed into your feelings about the Cardassians? Because I’ll certainly understand if you’re just fed up with them. I can’t stand half the Union representatives I’ve been forced to interact with since we signed that agreement, and none of them have held a disruptor to my head recently. But if this is about him—”

“I’m not _angry_ at Damar,” Kira interrupted in a huff. “I’m… I don’t know what I am. And yes, maybe being hunted down again by a gang of Cardassians on my own homeworld hasn’t helped my opinion of them as a whole. But that’s not what this is about.”

After a stretch of silence, punctuated only by her frustrated muttering as she tried to hook the second rank bar onto her collar, Shakaar sighed and asked, “Well, what is it about?”

She whipped around to face him, tossing the small silver pin onto the table in disgust. It clattered across the glass surface and slid onto the floor. “I’m not sure you want to know.”

Shakaar was, as usual, unmoved by her temper. “We went over this before, the last time you told me something I'd rather not know. I can handle it.” He waited, and Kira had a feeling he wouldn't budge on the issue until she finally opened up.

“Fine. You want to know what’s bothering me? I'll tell you: last night I sat in a cell interviewing my _sister_. That’s right,” she laughed when Shakaar’s eyes widened. It was a cynical, weary sound, and in the back of her mind she wondered if those were the only feelings left to her anymore. “Apparently Kivet Nelara is my half-sister. I found out the morning after they rescued me from Cardassia. The morning after she tried to kill me.”

“But how—”

She shook her head. “It’s too much to explain.”

Shakaar frowned. “Alright. But tell me, what does any of that have to do with Damar? Unless he’s...”

“It’s not what you think. But she’s why I called it off.” She dropped down on the couch with a sigh and set her chin in her palm. “I had to. Actually,” she lifted her head and slapped her hand down on the arm of the couch in frustration, “ _he_ ended it—for me. For my sake. Because of my mother and Nelara, and something I’m not even sure actually happened the way I think it did. And I thought that was a _good_ thing. I really wanted to believe it would help, and I spent eight months trying to convince myself that I was fine, but the truth is I’m just as miserable as before. Maybe more so. Even with everything else going on, I can only think of what _I_ want. Isn’t that selfish?”

When she looked up at Shakaar he was frowning, confusion written plainly on his face. “I’m... going to need you to explain that a little more clearly,” he said. “From the beginning, if you don’t mind.”

And so she did.

 

*

  
Bathed and reclothed in a jacket that hadn’t been torn to shreds, Damar finally felt a little more like himself again. He paced the quarters Shakaar’s adjutant had assigned to him, warm for the first time in days within the first minister’s well-attended residence. It was a spacious suite overlooking the Bajoran capital, with an impressively vaulted ceiling in the anteroom and an unnecessary number of overstuffed chairs and couches. Damar pulled a cup of hot spiced tea from the replicator and took a seat in the closest chair, noting as he relaxed in comfort that it seemed as though there was no real design to the arrangement of the seating. Everything was just sort of haphazardly gathered about in the center of the room.

After a few minutes of staring at the rest of the furniture he frowned and set his cup down with a sigh. “They use this room for storage.”

When the door chimed he was hardly surprised—Shakaar had all but promised to come by and ruin any hopes Damar had of a peaceful evening alone. He was beginning to suspect that his long hours of subspace conversations with the first minister hadn’t actually repaired their respectful working relationship at all, and that Shakaar was merely biding his time, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

He opened the door to find Kira on the other side, clean and dressed in a new uniform, with few signs of the injuries she had suffered during their ordeal. She was turned away from the door, as if she couldn’t decide if she was coming or going. “Colonel. Hello,” he said, too surprised to think of a more eloquent greeting.

“We need to talk,” she announced, marching past him into the room. She stopped in front of an island of settees.

Damar noted grimly that he’d long since lost count of how many times she had said those same words to him. “How can I help you?”

Kira stared at the furniture in the center of the room. “Why do you have so many chairs and couches?” She quickly shook her head. “Never mind that,” she said when he tried to explain. With her arms arms tight at her sides she stood bolt-straight in the center of the room, almost as though she intended to present herself for a formal inspection. If that was the case, Damar noted idly, her combadge was crooked and her left rank pin was missing. Had she left her quarters in a hurry?

“Sit down,” she instructed.

The last time he had seen her after their return to the capital she seemed more or less herself. Something had clearly happened since then; she was agitated, anxious. It was obvious she had something on her mind, and she intended to say it. He knew only too well what a task it was to keep her from doing that, and so he held his tongue long enough to let her explain. When nothing came of that he frowned at her, earning a cold glare that might have concerned him once. Now it only earned her a frown. “I’ll ask you to forgive me if I insist upon an explanation,” he said. “You did just storm into my quarters.”

Kira waited a beat and then nodded. She looked at him and said, “I need you to tell me how you feel about me. Not—” she jumped to clarify when he started to speak, “how you think _I_ want you to feel. Not what you think I _need_ to hear. Just the truth.”

“Sitting was a good suggestion,” Damar muttered, taking a seat across from her. “We both know this isn’t—”

“Damar, please,” she insisted quietly.

There hadn’t been any time to prepare himself for this conversation. He had no way to filter his thoughts, no excuses for anything he might say unintentionally. After several minutes of silently staring at his own hands, he said, “You know how I feel.”

“I need to hear you say it.”

It had been so difficult to let her go, and he had never _truly_ managed it; at no point had he ever convinced himself of the lie he told her that day, after she stormed out of the _Defiant’s_ Sickbay, only to reappear later in his home. Eight months of painful attempts to remind himself that he had made the only honorable choice had amounted to little more than a hollow longing, and guilt that seemed to eat away at him a little more each day. The real truth was that despite the danger, every moment in her company over the past two days had been both a joy and a torment, and he knew that he needed her for himself as much as he needed her for who she was. For what she represented in his life. He simply could not imagine a future without her in it, whether that meant at his side or in his bed. Or both.

Only it seemed impossible to tell her that without making a liar of himself.

Schooling his nerves, he looked away and swallowed back his own self-loathing. “I’m still in love with you,” he admitted quietly. There was a quick spike of shame, followed by a strong desire to simply get up and leave the room, but he pushed both aside and waited.

“I know you are,” was all she said in return. She took a seat on the couch across from him, and all the energy seemed to drain from her as she slumped over with her elbows on her knees.

“I apologize, I should have been more cautious with my behavior.” Had he tried at all? She was the one who had kissed him the night before, but hadn’t he invited her closer? She had to have seen through his flimsy excuse to keep her near, she wasn’t oblivious.

Kira shook her head. “Don’t be,” she said with a quiet sigh. “Neither of us can seem to keep this up, can we? The second we're together again... I don't know what else to do. And I still don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell you that I love you back, but if you want—if you’re willing to give me that chance—I’d like to try again.”

Damar blinked slowly, trying to process what she had said. “I’m sorry?”

Her quiet composure snapped to aggravation in the blink of an eye. “I’m trying to tell you that I still want to be with you, would you at least _try_ to pay attention?”

“I am! But,” Damar shifted in his seat and frowned his confusion at the table between them. “Your mother and Dukat—I don’t understand why you would feel any differently about that now than you did before.”

She seemed to consider that for a moment, and then with a quiet hum she left the couch and came over to stand before him. Shrugging, she said, “I don't feel any differently. And I think you know I don't feel any differently about you, even though I really, _really_ wanted to. It comes down to this: _we’re not them,_ Damar. I don’t even know if what I think happened is what really happened. Maybe you were right about my mother. Maybe you weren’t, but—” She stopped to take a deep breath. The chain of her earring swayed slightly as she shook her head. “I’ve been over it again and again, and all I _do_ know for sure is that denying myself something that has made me happy—despite all the _many_ reasons it shouldn’t—that’s just a win for Dukat. His last victory. And I won’t let him have it.” She took a steadying breath as she bent down and looked him in the eye. “So kiss me.”

Damar couldn’t think, couldn’t focus. As much as he yearned to do exactly what she was asking—ordering—him to do, caution left him frozen in place. “I don’t want you to do this because…”

“Because what? I feel guilty?” She laughed, “You know me better than that.”

Did he? Just a few minutes prior he had believed Kira was lost to him, and now she was practically demanding that they rewind the past eight months. It was too much to think about; his head felt clouded. “I don’t know if you’re right about that,” he muttered.

“Of course I am.” She reached down to push his arms away, making space for herself in his lap to straddle his legs. “I’m doing this because it’s what _I_ want. And I know it’s what you want, too. What’s the point of having something if you’re not willing to fight for it? Why should you be the only one who has to?” With a softness that belied her rough nature, she leaned in and placed a kiss on the side of his mouth, pulling back just enough to urge him to follow. “Kiss me,” she whispered against his cheek.

He couldn’t refuse her any longer, whether or not it made sense. Need made him too eager, and he grasped the back of her uniform, pulling at the thin cloth covering her back as he drew her closer. Kira seemed to melt against him, her own hands holding him tight. She closed her eyes and clutched the front of his jacket as she opened her mouth to his, rocking her hips against him slowly. Damar pulled his lips from hers long enough to shake his head. “This is not what I expected when I opened the door,” he confessed in a breathy rush.

She reached down between his legs and palmed his groin, smiling when he groaned and added his own hand to keep hers in place. “ _Good,_ ” she said. Still massaging her hand over his rapidly hardening length, she leaned in to brush her lips across the sensitive scales of his neck ridges, making Damar gasp and shiver under her touch. With her free hand she reached up to pull his jacket open, and that was when his senses finally caught up to his desire.

“We can’t do this in a chair,” he said, trying to push her from his lap. “There’s a bed—several beds—”

As an answer, Kira reached back and pulled open the top of her uniform. She tossed the short jacket aside, revealing the white lattice top underneath. Damar stared; she had already surpassed the extent of his knowledge regarding Bajoran Militia uniforms. “How does the rest…” he started to ask, but then she stood up and showed him, and his full attention was on her hands as she deftly worked her way out the tight red fabric. It was surprisingly simple, and when she was done, fully undressed before him, she slid back into his lap and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

“What were you saying?” she murmured in his ear.

Damar felt one of her hands snake down the front of his body and slide into his pants. “Right here is fine,” he gasped. “It’s fine.”

He could feel the warmth of her bare skin where she touched him, and the heat of her breath on his neck as she slowly worked him into a nearly incoherent state. By the time Damar realized that his erection was free of his clothing, that Kira was already positioning herself, he was so aroused that all he could do was stare mutely and try to breathe as he felt her incredible heat envelop him. She seated herself all the way and then lifted up on her knees, moving as if her only intent was to make up for eight months in one night. Damar reached out to hold her hips as he drank in the sight of Kira riding his cock to the rhythm of her own pleasure, giving herself what _she_  wanted most. He lifted one hand to caress a thumb across her breast; she let her head fall back with a quiet sigh, and a smile that made his chest feel tight as he watched her.

Seizing the opportunity as soon as it presented itself, Damar pulled her closer and bent his neck to gently bite the side of hers. He felt her tense around him, tightening just enough to make his hips jerk at the unexpected sensation. When she relaxed again he let go and kissed the spot where he had bitten her, blowing cool air over the reddened skin.

“Do it again,” Kira whispered. She tilted her head to the side to expose the same stretch of neck.

Damar smirked and bit down again. Kira gasped in pleasure and jerked her hips, letting her shoulders drop and loosening his hold on her all at once. He responded by taking her waist in his hands and pulling her down hard just as he thrust upward; the look of unguarded shock and ecstasy on her face as he drove deep inside was more than its own reward, and he enjoyed every second of it. As soon as he released her again she fell right back into the same steady rhythm as before, but this time he moved along with her, rocking his hips up to meet hers each time she pushed back down.

Slowly she began to tense around him, squeezing hard as she clenched her thighs and gripped his ridges so tight that it was almost painful. Damar watched her the whole time, memorizing the image of her mouth hanging open, her eyes shut tight in pleasure. She whined quietly under her breath and opened her eyes just enough to peer at him from beneath her thick lashes. “I’m almost there,” she whispered, her chest heaving. “I’m so close...”

He was too, but he couldn’t find the words as she had. All he could do was watch, mesmerized by the way she moved as she reached her climax; every muscle in her body reacting at once, making her shudder atop him while it overtook her. She was in all of his senses, wrapped around him and _his again,_ finally. Damar caught her hips in his hands and pulled her down, coming hard even as he plunged deep into her body. Kira continued to squeeze him tight in waves, still moving as though she intended to draw every last second of pleasure from him that she possibly could. Even when he knew he had nothing left to give her he kept going, giving her what he could until his body simply wouldn’t allow for more.

When it was all over Kira collapsed against his chest, her fingers wrapped around the fabric of his shirt. She took a moment to catch her breath and then carefully unseated herself and sat back down astride his lap. “I needed that,” she sighed.

Damar rubbed her back with one hand and hummed contentedly. “Did you?”

“I think we both did.”

He nodded in agreement and kissed the top of her head. Given all they had been through—all they had caused on their own, without any outside interference—there was no telling what the next day, or even the next hours would hold. He knew better than to think it would last forever anymore, and he certainly knew better than to ask. He wanted to believe that they had finally overcome their obstacles. Giving his heart to her would be a much simpler matter if he could be certain it wouldn’t be rejected again. Not that it would stop him. But fate had a way of forcing its intentions on him despite his desires, and time and again it had compelled him to accept that he had little control over anything when it came to Kira.

Given that it was all he could do anymore, he held her tight and tried not to think about the future.

“You have Shakaar to thank for this,” she muttered against the soft skin of his neck as she shifted to make herself more comfortable.

“That’s a peculiar Bajoran custom.”

Kira looked up and frowned at him. “Are we really going to spend the rest of our lives in a constant battle of wits with each other?” she asked.

Damar smiled. The rest of their lives? “I can only hope so,” he said. That would be far more than he deserved. But perhaps fate would work in his favor, for once.

She settled her head on his chest again. “Well, that doesn’t seem very fair to you.”

 

  
Some hours later, after wiling away most of the evening discussing every possible topic from their apparent relationship to the state of the Cardassian border defenses, they found themselves stretched out on one of the couches together. Damar lay on his back, his head in Kira’s lap as she worked to straighten the combadge on her chest. During the brief lull in conversation he had picked up a padd to read, but he quickly lost interest; it was a series of reports from the Bajoran Agricultural Ministry, and the entire first paragraph was about healthy alvas cultivation. He dropped it on the couch and decided to nap, instead.

“I have a question,” Kira said, interrupting the silence.

Damar cracked open one eye and looked up at her.

“You and Captain Sisko had _lunch_ together? What was that like?”

“He cooked for me. It was far more awkward than I imagined anything could be. And I say this having requested charity from a man I once tried to execute,” he answered.

She tilted her head. “Rom?”

That was a fair question; there were _so many_ candidates, after all. Damar nodded. “Incidentally, I never knew the potential for loathing any one individual could reach until I reacquainted myself with Leeta.”

“She’s very protective of him.”

“So I noticed.” Damar closed his eyes again and sighed through his nose. He didn't like thinking about his time spent groveling for charity from his former enemies. Regardless of whether or not they had been right to do what they did, whether his need was greater than the value of his pride, it was still humiliating. He did his best to avoid dwelling on any of it. “Since we’re asking questions," he said, changing the subject, "were you watching me at the captain’s party?”

He looked up again to find Kira frowning at some far away point in the room. “Not on purpose. I kept seeing you,” she said after a moment. “It was like no matter how far I tried to move, you were there anyway.”

“You were looking for me.”

She _tsked_ at him. “I was not.”

“Mm,” he hummed, “you longed for me. It’s perfectly understandable; after all, I am a hero. And quite handsome.”

“You’re a lucky idiot, and you’re… you’re okay.”

He frowned up at her. “ _Okay?_ ”

Kira ignored him and brushed aside a bit of his hair that had fallen free. “I have another question. It’s been bugging me for months.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve had all these problems with security, and you even said your intelligence networks weren’t as capable as they used to be.” She stretched and spread her arms across the back of the couch. “Why didn’t you just ask Garak to help you form a new intelligence service? Espionage is his life's work.”

Damar fixed her with a bemused smile and picked up the padd again. He tilted it in his hands to catch the reflection of the light from her earring. “And just how do you propose I should have gone about that?” he asked with a chuckle. “I don’t even know if he’s still alive, much less interested in helping me form an entirely new branch of the government. It isn’t exactly a simple task.”

Rather than the argument he expected, Damar’s answer met with silence. He set the padd down on his chest and looked up, only to find her staring at him, her eyes narrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Didn’t he help you leave Cardassia? He told me he was the one who got you into the refugee program here on Bajor.”

Damar pushed the padd aside and sat up. He shook his head. “Kira, I haven’t seen Garak since the day we tried to take Dominion headquarters.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note on my update schedule: I have been trying to post these chapters on Monday and Thursday mornings. Obviously that's subject to what's going on, and today I posted a lot later than usual. The plan is for chapter 7 to be up on the 18th, and then chapter 8 on the 22nd.

They deposited Julian in a chair, with one guard at his side to keep watch over him, presumably to prevent him from carrying out some other nefarious deed. He had already deduced that they felt much more at ease keeping him in sight, rather than depositing him in a holding cell. He also assumed that the only location within the facility equipped to keep unappreciated guests secured was the very same cell block where the Founder was being held—an _unacceptable risk_ , no doubt. And so he remained seated quietly in the control room with Emrol and his cadre of guards, watching the staff as they worked frantically to locate the source of their security breach.

“There’s no reason to be concerned, no one can beam through our shields,” Emrol calmly explained to his panicked subordinates.

Julian considered informing them of the purpose behind his visit, despite his clear instructions to the contrary. Namely the suspicion that the Dominion was involved in the attempts on Damar’s life and the abduction of the Bajoran crewmen earlier that year. If that was the case, and this was a rescue, shields would be of no consequence. Starfleet had employed numerous methods to prevent the Vorta from simply beaming their Jem’Hadar troops aboard vessels and space stations, however... Something about Emrol’s earlier hubris left Julian with the distinct impression that he had eschewed such simple precautions as rotating shield frequency. With an installation so heavily armed, what would be the point? Emrol was firmly convinced no one even suspected that the Founder was being held there.

Julian’s only consolation was the strong belief that the Founder had been telling the truth; that the Dominion could not possibly be involved, and therefore this emergency must be the work of some third party. Unfortunately that also left him burdened by the inescapable conclusion that if someone was indeed attempting to gain access to the facility, it was for the express purpose of reaching, and possibly killing the Founder. A terrifying thought, given the potential repercussions.

During a lull in the scurrying, when all signs seemed to indicate that there was no imminent attack, Emrol turned to Julian and smiled as warmly as if they had only just met. “So, Doctor Bashir. What was the plan? And what,” he reached down and pulled the metal object from his pocket, “is this?”

The blinking light had stopped, and along with it the alarms. It brought Julian no comfort whatsoever. “I already told you, I have nothing to do with any of this. I’ve no idea what that is, nor where it came from—much less that I had it with me.” He lifted his hands and the armed deputies raised their weapons. With a sidelong glance at the muzzle of the closest rifle, he said, “...Might I suggest doing a scan of the entire facility, instead of wasting your time questioning me? If this _was_ an attempt at infiltration, if that device was somehow planted in my belongings before I even came here, then you have much bigger problems right now than whether or not I’m a saboteur. And might I also note that I’m clearly not _going_ anywhere.”

Emrol waited, watching Julian through narrowed eyes. “Our shields are up.”

“In my experience, Director, shields are not a guarantee of safety.”

After what seemed like an eternity, Emrol nodded curtly and turned to one of his men. “Do it. Every corridor and crawlspace; I want to know if anyone is here who shouldn’t be.”

“I suggest you also send someone to secure the Founder,” Julian added.

“And why would her safety concern you so much?”

“I very much doubt anyone would go to all the trouble of setting up something like this just to get their hands on your excessive stockpile of plasma torpedoes. It is much more likely that this is an attempt to gain access to the Founder, whether to effect a rescue or an assassination, although my guess would be the latter. In either case, she ought to be your primary concern right now.”

“Our primary concern is securing the safety of the facility,” Emrol said.

“Then you have already failed in your duty. Allowing the Founder to be killed or freed could mean—”

Emrol cut his hand across the air in front of Julian. “That’s enough, Doctor. I’ve entertained your games for far too long already.”

“This isn’t a _game!_ If you would just—”

“Sir,” one of the technicians interrupted. He was seated at a nearby workstation. “I’m not detecting any additional lifesigns anywhere within the facility.”

“It seems like our _excessive_ armaments have fulfilled their purpose as a deterrent, don’t you think, Doctor?” Emrol lifted his chin and looked down on Julian with a smug smile.

“Or,” Julian said, neither chagrined by the turnabout nor inspired by Emrol’s confidence, “that’s simply what they want you to believe.”

Emrol watched him closely, and Julian could see the muscles in his jaw tighten and relax as he clenched his teeth repeatedly. Anyone else might have missed it, but Julian could see that he was holding back his anger. He wanted to be right, his instincts—whatever those were worth—whispered otherwise. “The two of you,” he said, gesturing to two of the guards without breaking eye contact with Julian. “Secure the shapeshifter’s cell.”

“An ounce of prevention,” Julian muttered.

“Don’t gloat, Doctor Bashir. There are four armed guards stationed down there right now. I’d think we might have heard something from _one_ of them if there had been any trouble.”

Julian shook his head at the sheer arrogance of this man standing before him. “While I’m sure you don’t believe this, Mister Emrol, I sincerely hope you’re right.”

 

  
Roughly fifteen minutes had elapsed since the two men dispatched to check on the Founder’s detachment had gone, and no reports had surfaced from the floors below in that time. Repeated attempts to contact the individual guards had proved fruitless, and Emrol’s lackadaisical sureness had given way to growing unease in the meantime. He paced the control room, one hand tucked against the small of his back while he walked. The situation seemed entirely out of his realm of experience, and Julian wondered how such a man could have come to be in a position that might very well decide the fate of the entire Alpha Quadrant.

“We have to assume they’re dead or incapacitated,” Julian said.

“There could be interference, a mechanical malfunction…”

“You know as well as I do that if that were true they would have simply come back up here to tell us. You have to accept that something has indeed gone wrong, and act accordingly.” Julian tried to stand up, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. The guard by his side shook his head. “Fine, but at least put the facility on alert. There are other personnel out there, and they don’t have the slightest idea that anything is wrong.”

“If you would like to go track down everyone in this facility, by all means,” Emrol started to say.

“Forgive me, I find it difficult to believe you would allow me that much freedom when thus far I haven’t even been permitted to get up from this chair.”

Emrol shrugged. “You have me there, Doctor.” He turned to the technician at the closest station and said, “Set us on low priority alert, and send out an order to remain in quarters until the alert is—”

“Sir, I can’t access the communications protocols.” The young Bajoran frantically checked and re-checked his console, tapping the same keys repeatedly and receiving the same lack of response each time. “It’s like the whole thing has just gone offline.”

Emrol left Julian and moved to the first station, then the second, checking each in turn. When he reached the last he stepped back and ran a hand through his hair. “We’re locked out everything. All command subsystems have been rerouted.”

“But to where?” the technician asked timidly.

The childish urge to bellow _“I told you so!”_ briefly overwhelmed Julian, but he held his tongue and only waited to see how his host would respond to this new information. There was no question now that they were under attack. A very subtle, extremely coordinated attack that must have required months of planning to carry out.

With all eyes in the room on him, Emrol seemed to wilt under the pressure for just a moment before he said, “Secure the door, and see if you can bypass the controls to gain direct access.”

“Let me help,” Julian said.

Emrol shook his head and laughed. “No, I think we’ve had enough of your help today.”

“Do you honestly believe I would be concerned for the safety of the personnel within this facility if I were a part of whatever it is taking place? Have some common sense!”

“I believe you suggested that I send away two of my men, and then they disappeared,” Emrol pointed out bitterly.

“You can’t possibly think I intentionally…” Julian stopped on his own. Of course that was what he believed. Quietly, he said, “I’m a doctor. My only interest is saving as many lives as possible.”

“Then I suggest you start with your own.” Emrol turned to the technician working furiously to bypass systems that he had likely never worked with before, beyond learning the standard layout of a Romulan operations console. “Have you made any progress regaining control?”

“Not—” The technician yelped as a pop of electricity exploded from beneath the instrument panel, sending a small cloud of smoke billowing out into the room. “Not yet,” he said piteously.

Julian sighed at the floor. “The Bajoran Militia won’t have the first clue what they’re walking into when they arrive.”

He had expected a sharp rebuke from Emrol, or perhaps more paranoid accusations. But instead the man stood bolt-straight, eyes wide and fixed on the feet of the technician working on the floor.

That wasn’t a good sign at all. “You _did_ alert the military, didn’t you?” Julian asked. When Emrol only continued to stare blankly he insisted, “ _Didn’t you?_ ”

“We had other problems to worry about!” Emrol finally shouted. He rounded on Julian, waving the mysterious metal object back and forth in his hand. “Derna is defended by an extremely powerful weapons array, we had no reason to believe it was necessary to contact the surface.”

“And now that _extremely powerful weapons array_ is in the hands of whomever it is taking control of this facility! You’ve all but handed those weapons over to your enemies, and you don’t even know _who_ they are!”

“We will determine the identity of—”

“By what means, Director Emrol? We are all alone up here, and no one on the surface knows anything is wrong. By the time they _do_ —”

A quiet “ _Um,_ ” interrupted the shouting match, and both Julian and Emrol stopped to look at the young Bajoran technician, who had emerged from beneath the workstation. “Well… we’re scheduled to report to the surface twice a day, at 0600 and 1900 hours. If we don’t send that transmission, they’ll probably send a ship to investigate.”

“What time is it now?” Julian asked.

The technician sat up to check the chronometer on the console. “Eight minutes to the next check-in,” he said.

“How long will it take them to mobilize the militia and respond?”

Emrol frowned and shook his head slowly. “They won’t send anyone,” he said.

“Why not?” Julian asked. He realized the foolishness of his question almost immediately; six thousand plasma torpedoes ready to defend the facility from any outside interference were the reason why. His hopes extinguished once more, he said, “I see. In that case, it seems as if we’re on our own, and it’s up to us to regain control.”

“And just how would you suggest we do that?”

“Well, if you are willing to accept me at my word that I am not a part of the plot to take over this facility, then I would advise we secure this control room, giving Mister…” Julian stopped and looked down at the technician, still sitting on the floor.

“Sovora, sir.”

Julian nodded. “Giving Mister Sovora a chance to complete his work while we attempt to gather information on the enemy’s identity and position.”

“You’re suggesting we leave?” Emrol asked incredulously. “As far as any of us knows, this is the only safe place in the entire facility. Why would we leave?”

“Because the longer we remain in here, the greater the likelihood that whoever is out there will simply force their way inside. When that happens, you can be certain that we will come out on the losing end of that confrontation.”

That didn’t seem to sit well with any of the unarmed staff in the room, and even the remaining guards shifted uncomfortably. They were confined to a small space, with nowhere to hide and no other means of escape save for a long fall from the front-facing windows overlooking the bay below. Several of them spoke quietly to one another, and a few watched Emrol carefully, no doubt waiting to see just how much value he placed on their safety. At least, that was what Julian hoped. If he couldn’t convince Emrol to believe him, perhaps he could shift the situation in his favor.

Fortunately for Emrol, he seemed able to read the room well enough. “Are you saying you’ll come with us?” he asked.

Julian sat up straight. “I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.”

That was that, then; Emrol couldn’t back down for fear of losing control over the situation and his own staff. Julian himself wasn’t keen on the thought of leaving the room and walking out into a completely unknown situation, but at least it would give them a fighting chance—so to speak.

There were three armed guards remaining. Emrol singled out the one who had been stationed inside the door when they first arrived and instructed him to remain within the room, to keep the personnel safe. Of the other two he warned one to keep an eye on Julian. “If he tries anything, shoot him,” he said grimly. “And Doctor, I sincerely hope for your sake that you haven’t just endangered Sovora here and his colleagues on a foolish whim. Their lives are now in your hands.”

 _Well played,_  thought Julian. “I would sooner risk my own.” He stood up, ignoring the ache from having been confined to the small chair for so long, and inclined his head in the direction of the door. “After you.”

 

  
The halls of the facility were silent, and empty save for the four men moving through them as quickly and quietly as possible. Julian was in the center of the pack, flanked by the two armed guards and followed by Emrol, who had helped himself to one of the two weapons carried by the guard he had left behind in the control room. Julian alone was unarmed, which he supposed shouldn’t have surprised him. A brief but heated debate over their first destination had been carried out in a flurry of whispers, ending in another victory for Julian, and a strong suspicion that—guilty or not—he had made a lifetime enemy of Emrol Arakken. Assuming they survived, and assuming he wasn’t simply left to die at the first sign of trouble, Julian noted that it might be in his best interests to address that at some point.

They came upon the first location where a set of guards should have been posted on the way to the Founder’s cell. At first the corridor seemed empty, but as they rounded the bend, Julian spotted someone lying on the floor. He temporarily forgot the officer who had been instructed to shoot him if he misbehaved and dashed ahead to see what, if anything, could be done.

“He’s alive,” he said, relieved to feel a healthy pulse under his fingers as he pressed them to the guard’s neck. Carefully he turned the man’s head to find a small mark on the skin, just below the hairline. “It looks as though someone has anesthetized him. I won’t be able to revive him here. If we could reach your medical facilities…”

“Medical quarters are two floors above, Doctor. If you would like to carry him up there, we’ll happily accompany you,” Emrol said. Julian caught the glint of a challenge in his narrowed eyes, but he refused to rise to the bait.

“Someone else over here,” one of the others interrupted. He moved aside a stack of supply crates to reveal another unconscious guard.

A pulse and matching injection mark confirmed the second guard was similarly unconscious, but appeared healthy otherwise. Julian couldn’t help but wonder at the strangeness of it. Why go to all the trouble of seizing the facility, disabling its systems and incapacitating the personnel, and then take such great pains not to harm anyone? Finding someone alive was a welcomed relief, of course, but it raised several highly perplexing questions. He was immediately reminded of the incident with Kira’s rescue earlier that year; Nelara had mentioned that no one was to be harmed in their plan—apart from Damar. What an odd coincidence to have encountered two different enemies with a view to spare their victims from unnecessary harm.

He froze with his hand hovering just above the second guard’s neck. What if it _wasn’t_ two different enemies? Up to that point he had assumed that he was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time—that a third party had seized on an opportunity to take vengeance on the Alpha Quadrant’s most hated villain. But perhaps that was what they had been planning all along. Perhaps it wasn’t Damar they were after at all, but the Founder. A great deal of the evidence had pointed to the Dominion early on, leading Julian _right_ to her highly classified location. And now a surprise attack? Of course it was no mere coincidence. What a fool he had been!

“Doctor? Are you finished down there?”

Julian jumped, pulled from his thoughts by a firm hand on his shoulder. “Y—yes, of course,” he stammered. “I suppose it’s safe enough to leave them here, under the circumstances. How far to the Founder’s cell?”

“Just down this corridor and through an access tunnel. We’ll come out inside the room,” Emrol said.

His worries plagued him, and Julian couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something. Could it have been the Dominion, after all? Making the takeover of Derna seem like an attack, rather than a rescue, only to fool everyone and spirit the Founder back to the Gamma Quadrant before the smoke had cleared? Deception was their preferred _modus operandi_ , after all. Following his meeting with the Founder, Julian had felt confident she was telling the truth, but now he was beginning to doubt his eager acceptance of her word. Was it simply that he wanted to believe she was sincere? And why use Damar as the bait? Why not choose someone simpler, someone more predictable? Even if it wasn’t the Dominion, surely there were simpler methods of determining the whereabouts of the Founder. None of it seemed to make any sense! Yet he was nevertheless faced with a host of new information, and an urgent need to find the pattern while he still had time.

Once they arrived at their destination, Emrol instructed the guards to remove a heavy panel covering what turned out to be the hidden entrance to the access tunnel. “We discovered this completely by accident,” he explained. “Only six people even know of its existence. Well… nine, now. It seems to be a Romulan pastime to include these sort of details in their architecture.”

The first guard crouched down and entered the cramped tunnel, followed by Emrol, and then Julian. The last guard brought up the rear, replacing the false panel behind himself. The space was more compact than the Jefferies Tubes of a starship, and smaller still than the Cardassian engineering tunnels aboard Deep Space Nine, but thankfully there was still room for a quick turnaround if it became necessary to retreat.

“With any luck we’ll take them by surprise,” Emrol said as he crawled forward with more resolve than Julian had seen from him all evening.

Julian found he was far less optimistic about the outcome, but they really didn’t seem to have much of a choice anymore. “Although I can only imagine what you’ll make of this suggestion, I would advise restraining your enthusiasm and keeping the enemy alive, should our plan prove successful. The more information we have, the better equipped we’ll be to retake the rest of the facility.”

“Of course, Doctor. We’re not barbarians. This isn’t Cardassia.”

“Forgive me,” Julian muttered. “I must have been confused by the six thousand plasma torpedoes you’ve employed here.”

Emrol said nothing, and Julian left it at that. The slow journey progressed in silence for a short time, until Emrol commanded the party to an abrupt stop for what seemed to be no reason at all. Reaching over the guard in the lead, he opened a plate covering a pad cleverly concealed within the wall of the tunnel and keyed in a quick sequence. A forcefield Julian hadn’t even been aware of deactivated less than a meter from the front of the group. “I’m glad to see extra steps were taken to secure this method of access,” he said.

“More than you know, Doctor. That forcefield is lethal. It will also reactivate in about thirty seconds, so I suggest we hurry.”

“No doubt also procured from the Cardassian Union,” Julian observed as he crawled on behind his host. He was already composing a few things to say to Damar the next time they saw one another. “Is security monitoring in the Founder’s cell still active?” he asked.

“Assuming they didn’t cut power to this part of the facility, yes,” Emrol said. “But the only way to access that system is through the control room. And it’s heavily encrypted—you couldn’t even create a data recording of the visual feed if you tried to.”

That explained the still image Captain Sisko had shown him. “That may work in our favor, at least,” Julian noted.

“Yes, well, we did think of a _few_ things, Doctor.”

Julian frowned at Emrol’s backside. “What would happen if they were to cut the power?”

“If you’re worried about the shapeshifter escaping, don’t. She’s locked behind two force fields operating on an independent power grid,” Emrol explained. “Unless you were to physically lower them from within the room itself—something which requires my prior authorization and a manual release from the control room—there is simply no way for her to escape.”

“It seems as though you’ve taken great pains to make certain she’s fully secured,” Julian said. He was almost ghoulishly giddy as he added, “Which only makes me wonder just _why_ you didn’t employ similar redundant security measures for the rest of the facility, as well.” Emrol had been needling him for most of the day, and it turned out to be incredibly satisfying to send some of that back his way.

Emrol stiffened, looking over his shoulder as he hissed, “ _Six thousand torpedoes,_ Doctor.”

Julian rolled his eyes. “Right. Of course.”

They continued their arduous crawl through the tunnel until they reached a short bend, and then the path abruptly stopped at what anyone else might have believed to be a wall. The first guard and Emrol both held their weapons ready, leaving Julian to wonder just what it was they expected _him_ to do in the event of a fight. He certainly didn’t expect the guard to his rear to hand him a phaser on good faith alone.

The guard in the lead turned himself around until his foot was against the panel, and then he kicked out, sending the metal plate flying into the brightly lit room. He was through the opening and out in a matter of seconds, with Emrol on his heels. Julian hesitated, expecting to hear weapons fire, but after the clattering of the metal hatch cover had ceased, there was only silence apart from the hammering of his own pulse in his ears.

“You can come out, Doctor,” Emrol called. “It seems we’re alone.”

Julian turned around to look at the guard behind him, who made his best attempt at a shrug in the cramped space and re-shouldered his weapon. They crawled out to find Emrol was correct; the room was empty. Including the Founder’s holding cell.

“Where—” he started to ask. Before he could finish an inset rivet on cell’s inner wall dropped to the floor and quickly morphed into a large pillar of orange-gold fluid. In a few short seconds the Founder stood before him, hands clasped serenely.

“I must admit, Director Emrol, I am disappointed to see it has taken you this long to make your way here.” Her tone carried no fondness that Julian could detect, and she looked coldly at Emrol as she waited for a reply. Or perhaps it was an explanation she expected.

“What happened to the guards in here?” Emrol demanded.

The Founder spread her hands wide. “I could not tell you. There was a commotion outside, and two left to investigate. When those two did not return, the others followed. I have been waiting here ever since.”

“You hid yourself,” Julian said.

“It seemed wise not to take chances.”

That was a relief to hear. If she feared for her own life, there was a good chance that it _wasn’t_ the Dominion behind the takeover. That was the first and most sacrosanct rule; no Changeling was to kill another. “Have you heard anything since the...”

He was interrupted by an unfamiliar sound—a steady beep, muffled by Emrol’s pocket. Through the fabric they could see that the light that had previously flashed yellow before it stopped was now a bright, rapidly blinking red. Frowning, Emrol reached in and withdrew the metal sliver he had confiscated from Julian’s book, but no sooner had he lifted it up to inspect it than he—as well as the two guards—were abruptly beamed from the room. The last Julian saw of them was Emrol’s betrayed scowl, frozen in place until the last of him faded away.

“No!” Julian shouted. He turned toward the door, finding it wouldn’t open when he stepped in front of it. He slapped his palm over the pad on the wall, only to receive an obstinate series of tones he took to mean that the door was locked or otherwise inoperable. “What the _hell_ is going on here!” he demanded of no one.

“Perhaps it would be wise for me to conceal myself again,” the Founder said quietly from behind him.

Julian turned around and his rage faded as he leaned back against the wall. It was replaced by the heavy burden of confusion and a frustration that had him clenching and unclenching his fists as he tried to piece everything together before it was too late. If it wasn’t already. “That might be good idea,” he sighed. At least he was reasonably certain he would only be left unconscious, like the others. Whether or not he woke up to find the Alpha Quadrant careening towards another war was another matter entirely.

 

*

 

“It could mean nothing,” Kira said. “Or it could be exactly what we think it is.”

“I’m not sure I know _what_ to think,” Damar admitted with a heavy sigh.

“Well, whatever it is, our first step should be to contact the station and tell Captain Sisko what we’ve learned.” _Learned_ wasn’t the right description so much as _suddenly remembered,_ but she wasn’t happy with what that said about either of them. Why hadn’t she ever thought to mention her conversation with Garak before?

Because, she reminded herself with no small amount of embarrassment, Damar had never offered his own version of those events, and she hadn’t asked. She only ever cared that he was on Bajor, hiding from his responsibilities. How he had gotten himself there was as irrelevant to her as his justification for doing it in the first place. But Garak… Was it just another clever lie, concocted for his own amusement? She couldn’t imagine it being anything else, not after everything they had been through together. He had fought beside them, after all. He bled with them, huddled in that miserable cellar for days on end just like they did, and even put himself in harm’s way for her sake. Maybe she _didn’t_ understand Cardassians as well as she liked to believe, but that must have counted for something?

Still, a worrisome feeling tugged at the back of her mind, and she couldn’t simply set it aside. “Come on. We’ll inform Shakaar and then contact the station,” she said. Whether or not it was just a silly story it was her duty to make sure the information reached the right people, including the captain. It was also her duty to report directly to her superiors, which meant Shakaar in this case. And if she was being totally honest with herself, she welcomed his take on the situation. Maybe what they needed was for someone else to wave aside their concerns and remind them to focus on the real issues.

They left Damar’s quarters together and almost immediately found themselves caught up in a rush of movement. Bajoran deputies and members of Shakaar’s staff hurried past, moving through the halls as if drawn by some powerful current. Kira was nearly knocked down by a pair of them as she tried to step out of the doorway. “What's going on out here?”

Damar pulled her back from another near-collision. “I don’t know, but I’d rather not have to explain to anyone why you were trampled on your way from my quarters.”

“I’m not sure anyone would even notice right now,” Kira shrugged. “You.” She reached out and grasped the arm of a passing major. “What is all this about?”

“Emergency, Colonel.”

“What kind of emergency? And where is the first minister?”

The young officer looked panicked, as though he had already lost precious time by saying two short words. “In his office, with the General’s Council.”

Kira stared in shock. She couldn’t recall a time they had ever convened the ranking generals of the Bajoran Militia, except for the occasional ceremony and the day they met for the first time under Shakaar’s administration. Even her standoff with the Romulans hadn’t been enough to draw them together. They were some of the oldest and most calculating members of the former resistance, in most cases leaders of their individual cells who had been cunning and quick enough to survive the Cardassian’s sincere efforts to exterminate them. They had each been placed in charge of a different branch of the Militia, and they worked with their own preferred people just like they always had. What could possibly have happened to cause such an uproar and force those stubborn old soldiers to finally come together on something?

“General’s Council?” Damar asked.

The sound of his voice shook Kira from her own surprise. “I’ll explain on the way,” she said, finally releasing the major, who scurried off without another word. “Let’s go.”

 

  
While it wasn’t actually her place to interrupt a meeting of the First Minister and his military advisors, it also wasn’t in her nature not to simply do whatever seemed right at the moment. Kira brushed past the harried and insistent officers stationed outside the door to Shakaar’s office, ignoring the pleas for her to stop. Damar followed behind—whether because he knew he might be arrested if he didn’t stay close to her or because he wanted to offer her support, she couldn’t be sure. At the moment it didn’t really matter much.

Shakaar stood up behind his desk when she entered the room. “Nerys. This really isn’t the time—”

“Actually, I think it’s the perfect time. If something happened that requires this much military action, then you’re probably going to need Starfleet’s help. What can I do?”

“This is an internal matter, Colonel,” one of the generals seated in a semicircle around Shakaar’s desk groused at her. “Your initiative is noted, but your presence is not required. You may consider yourself dismissed.”

“Last I checked, sir, I’m still an officer in the Bajoran Militia.”

Shakaar held out a hand to stop them both. “Please, everyone.” He sat back down and folded his hands on top of the desk. “She’s right. We’ll have to bring Starfleet into this. If not now, then soon.”

The generals seemed horrified by the mere suggestion. “But, First Minister—” one of them started to object.

Shakaar cut them off with a stern look. “I’ve made my decision,” he said firmly, silencing the room. “Colonel Kira will stay.” He waved his hand over to the open chairs along the wall. Please, take a seat. And… Legate Damar as well, I suppose.”

Kira caught a quick exchange of glances between the two men; Damar appeared confused and uncomfortable, and Shakaar had obviously just resigned himself to the situation. At any other time it might have made her laugh, but this was no laughing matter. “First, I need to know what’s going on,” she said. “If we’re going to ask for Starfleet’s assistance, we need to give them as much warning as possible. It’ll take the _Defiant_ at least six hours to get here.”

Shakaar nodded solemnly. “Of course.”

But no explanation followed. Kira waited, watching the backs of the generals as they muttered to one another, every so often looking back over their shoulders at her or Damar before returning to the quiet conference they were holding in their own company. Shakaar watched the top of his desk, apparently deep in thought.

She was rapidly losing her patience. There was respect for the chain of command and then there was wasting time during what was obviously a crisis. “Well?” she prompted.

Shakaar took a deep breath and said, “We’ve lost contact with Derna. Some time between 0600 hours and roughly half an hour ago, when they failed to check in as scheduled.” He brushed a hand through his hair and grimaced. “We’re not getting any response from the facility.”

“Have you sent anyone up to investigate?” Kira asked. The flight to Bajor’s smaller uninhabited moon was short enough that Shakaar could have made it himself in the time it took to cross the building they were in. She hadn’t even been aware that there was anyone up on Derna to begin with. What use could the Bajoran people possibly have for an abandoned Romulan complex, and why was it such a cause for concern?

“We considered it, but…” Shakaar looked away uncomfortably. “Look, there’s no easy way to say this. We… _repurposed_ what was left behind by the Romulans. If something has happened and the facility really has been compromised, then it’s just not safe to send a ship to investigate.” He ignored the new round of quiet complaints from the semicircle of generals in front of his desk.

Kira crossed her arms. “Not safe? Just how _not safe_ are we talking?”

She watched as Shakaar looked to the generals first, and then, for some strange reason, right at Damar. Suddenly Derna’s significance wasn’t the only unanswered question in the room. Kira narrowed her eyes as she turned around to look down at Damar, who had seated himself in one of the chairs. Why had Shakaar even allowed him to remain there with them in the first place? If it was such a sensitive matter, why hadn’t the generals objected to his presence? Certainly they would have felt that a _Cardassian_ of all people had no business involving himself in Bajoran problems, ally or not. “What do _you_ have to do with this?” she asked him.

Damar started to stammer an answer, but he was saved by an interruption from the comm. _“First Minister, we’re receiving an incoming transmission from Derna,”_ a voice said.

“Put it through to my office immediately,” Shakaar commanded.

_“Right away, sir.”_

All eyes turned to the viewscreen on the wall beside Shakaar’s desk. The flat, glossy pane flickered to life displaying the image of a young Bajoran man, his curly brown hair in disarray as he stared straight ahead, past his end of the screen.

“Director Emrol,” one of the generals exclaimed. “What’s happened? Why haven’t you reported in?!”

 _“Thank you, Director. I believe that concludes your part in this little charade,”_ a voice said from offscreen. Kira’s heart leapt into her throat when she heard the familiar sound. _Don’t let that be him,_ she prayed silently.

As they watched, Emrol struggled to escape a hypospray that was held to his neck, but it was too late by the time he managed to wrest himself free; he slumped over and tumbled out of his chair, disappearing from view. As everyone in the room watched in horrified silence, a new occupant took a seat in the chair.

 _“Good evening, everyone. I’m so pleased we finally have an opportunity to speak face-to-face—in a manner of speaking, of course. First, before we move on to the pertinent details, I’d like to introduce myself to those of you with whom I've not already become acquainted. My name is Elim Garak,”_ he said with a smile, _“and I’m here to help you.”_

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for posting late. I had a pretty hectic day yesterday.

_“Now that introductions are out of the way, I’m going to have to insist that all of the esteemed generals leave the room,”_ Garak said, making a small shooing gesture with his hand.

One of the generals shot out of his chair, the chain of his earring nearly swinging into his face as he demanded, “Just who do you think you are—”

 _“If you recall, I’ve already shared my name,”_ Garak said. _“And unless I am mistaken, which I believe we both know quite well isn’t the case, at the moment you have considerable incentive to do as I say. So, if you would be so kind…”_

Kira couldn’t believe what she was seeing, what she was _hearing_. Garak had all the confidence of a man with a phaser to their heads, and no one—not even Shakaar—was challenging him. While she watched in stunned and furious silence, Shakaar nodded to the generals, and they actually left. They _left,_ without so much as a parting word or a backwards glance. Garak’s smug smile only widened as the last of them shuffled out, and the door closed with a quiet hiss.

 _“Much better. I do prefer these more intimate gatherings when conducting business,”_ he said contentedly.

Enough was enough; Kira rounded on him. “What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?!” she shouted at the screen. “Have you lost your mind?”

_“I’m so pleased to see that you haven’t misplaced your righteous passion along with your integrity, Colonel.”_

Kira blinked back her shock. “Excuse me?”

 _“Now, as this really is only the preamble, I’d prefer to get things moving as quickly as possible. Provided there are no further objections, of course. After all, I have been working up to this moment for_ quite _some time.”_

Damar, who had been silent while the generals were present, stepped up next to Kira. “What is it you want from us, Garak?”

 _“Ah, I was wondering when you would abandon your attempt to blend into the background. As it so happens, my friend, I want nothing_ from _you. I simply want you.”_

“Us?” Shakaar asked.

 _“Well, not_ you, _”_ Garak said dismissively. He turned back to Kira and Damar. _“I had at first intended to minimize the number of parties involved in this matter out of courtesy, but you, Colonel, seemed so incredibly determined to insert yourself into events at every possible turn. And so, though it pains me to do so, I must insist that you accompany Legate Damar up here to Derna.”_

Kira shook her head. “I’m not coming up there, and neither is he. If you want to finish this game of yours, whatever it is, you can come down to the surface.”

Garak’s false smile never wavered, but his eyes took on a dangerous gleam that she had seen too many times in the past to dismiss now. He leaned in slightly and said, _“Much like your superiors, I believe you will soon discover that you don’t actually have a choice in the matter. First Minister Shakaar should be able to explain to you just why that is. And in the meantime, I will leave you with this—consider it a ‘good faith’ gesture on my part: although you may be tempted to seek the assistance of our mutual acquaintances to assure your safety, I promise you, Colonel, that is not necessary._ You _will not be harmed. The two of you are to come alone—and please, don’t delay. As I’m sure you can imagine, I am rather anxious to proceed.”_

The transmission ended, leaving the room cloaked in an uncomfortable silence. Seeing that Damar and Shakaar appeared to have no plans to speak up, Kira once again took the initiative and said, “I need answers, _now_.”

Shakaar had steepled his fingers and rested his forehead against his thumbs. “Nerys…” he began with a sigh.

“No, Edon. Whatever you’re hiding, whatever it is up there that Garak seems to think—that those generals think is enough _incentive_ to bring the entire Bajoran Militia to a standstill, I need to know what it is.” She turned away from him and gave Damar a look she sincerely hoped he would understand. This was not the time to hold back; not for fear of what she might think, or how it might affect what existed between them. “And I need _you_ to tell me what you have to do with all of this.”

Damar made an unpleasant face and looked aside. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, shifting in his chair as he seemed to search for the right words. It was a process she had grown familiar with, and very tired of, in their time together. Finally he drew in a deep breath and said, “We traded with Bajor for—”

“It’s our fault, Nerys,” Shakaar interrupted. He left his chair and came around the side of the desk. He and Damar exchanged another meaningful look that she wasn’t so sure she could read this time. “But you must understand, it was all done for Bajor.”

“ _What_ was done for Bajor?” she asked.

Shakaar began to walk around the room, crossing and uncrossing his arms repeatedly. He kicked one foot in front of the other as if he could buy himself time by outpacing her demand for answers. Finally he lifted his head again and said, “We haven’t just reclaimed the facility on Derna. We’ve also outfitted it with Cardassian weapons, and adapted them to work with the Romulan technology that was left behind.” He waved a hand in Damar’s direction. “Don’t blame him, he was just trying to do right by his people.”

“What kind of weapons?” she asked warily.

He stopped and frowned—at himself or at her, she couldn’t determine. “Plasma torpedoes, mostly,” he said, ignoring her shocked stare. “Five or six thousand so far, I can’t say I recall the exact number. The plan was to utilize Derna as a defensive installation. A deterrent against attack. You know as well as I do that we can’t defend ourselves against an invasion, and Starfleet is in no shape right now to risk another war just for our sake. Even if they were, you said it yourself: the _Defiant_ is six hours away at maximum warp. What do we do if those Romulans you chased off decide to come back, looking to avenge their wounded pride? Would one ship even be enough?” he asked. His tone slowly shifted from conciliatory to defensive, and he stood up straighter as he justified his actions to her. “We saw an opportunity to give Bajor the edge for once. To make our enemies think twice before picking a fight with us. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same if you were standing here instead of me.”

“I wouldn’t have! It doesn’t even make sense! What good are all those weapons when anyone with common sense can just avoid coming in range?” she demanded. “There isn’t even a good reason to _attack_ Derna! Congratulations, Edon, you’ve managed to establish the most heavily defended, totally empty moon in the Alpha Quadrant. I’m sure anyone who wanted to invade before is really thinking twice about it now!”

“It’s not… completely empty,” Shakaar said quietly during a brief lull in her tirade.

Kira stopped and let her shoulders go slack. She knew that tone. She knew the look he was giving her; the look that she had seen from him on dark nights when they weren’t sure if they would make it back home. “Oh, what have you done?” she asked. Of _course_ there was more than they were telling her—weapons alone weren’t enough to make Derna a target. “What _else_ is up there?”

 

*

 

It had been roughly an hour since the others were beamed from the room, with no sign of the perpetrators behind the act, nor any word of their demands—assuming they had demands to make. The Founder had remained unnervingly still throughout that time, watching Julian with what he could only assume was mild curiosity as he moved around the room attempting to locate another hidden crawlspace. It seemed that, although the Romulans were predictably cautious in their design choices, they were rather conservative in the ultimate application of useful secrets. One per room, apparently.

“You seem agitated,” the Founder observed.

Julian abandoned his attempt to pry up a wall panel with a frustrated sigh. “I suppose I am,” he said. “While I would like nothing more than to be an example of true grace under pressure, I’m afraid I am simply not able at the moment.”

The Founder bowed her head gently, as if accepting an apology. “Perhaps you will find a means of escape yet.”

“I’m less interested—” Julian grunted in pain as he dug his fingers under the cover of the door release panel, “—in escaping than I am in stopping whatever is happening to this facility.” The cover came off, flying across the room to land in front of the Founder’s cell. She and Julian both looked down at it for a few seconds before he turned back to the now-uncovered door controls. “At the very least I’d like to learn the identity of the attackers.”

“Does it truly matter who they are? After all, we already know why they’ve come.”

The way she spoke of it, of the possibility that she might soon die, sent a chill through Julian. Didn’t it worry her that her own death could spark another conflict between the Dominion and the Alpha Quadrant? Perhaps she viewed that prospect as a positive outcome. Given that anything short of collapsing the wormhole could potentially end in the total subjugation or destruction of those who had forced her to surrender, it might seem like a fair trade. “I’ll do my best to see to it that doesn’t happen,” he said. Rolling up one sleeve, he reached up into the space behind the wall and groped for a manual door release. Of course there wasn’t one to be found, prompting him to slap the wall with his free hand and growl in frustration. “Don’t Romulans ever do _anything_ logical?” he shouted. The irony of his question only occurred to him after he had pulled his arm back out of the wall, and he rolled his eyes at himself.

“What a strange creature you are.”

Julian grimaced and flexed his arm before lowering the sleeve again. There was a deep red line where he had pressed his skin against the frame of the open panel box. It would fade in time, but it was rather uncomfortable. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, frowning.

The Founder nodded again. Julian noted that she hadn’t bothered to clarify whether or not it was meant as one.

 

*

 

Concealing armaments fell under a type of rationale that Damar could actually understand. After all, why offer enemies (current or potential) an advantage by allowing them an opportunity to plan ahead? It was a strategy he himself had employed during the war, when he was still toiling under the Dominion’s boot. And while it was no longer a viable strategy for his people, Cardassia also had one advantage the Bajorans currently lacked: at least for the moment, the Federation was wholly invested in stabilizing the Union to avoid another conflict. That left protectorates like Bajor exposed, and desperate to maintain their significance. It was an unenviable position to be in. But taking on that treacherous shapeshifter… It was madness. “And you believe Garak is on Derna to kill the Founder?” he asked.

“Well, I doubt he’s there to have _tea_ with her, if that’s what you mean.” Shakaar dropped himself back down into his chair with a weary sigh. “I’m beginning to regret ever agreeing to the Federation’s request. Taking custody of that monster seems to have been a serious mistake.”

Kira, who had lowered herself into one of the chairs vacated by the generals upon hearing the news, lifted her head. “You’re _just_ starting to feel that way?” she asked incredulously.

“And just what would you have preferred I say instead?”

“ _‘_ _No’_ is a good place to start.”

“Sure,” Shakaar laughed, “I suppose I could have refused. ‘I’m sorry, Admiral. You see, we’re willing to benefit from your protection, your resources, your technology, but we draw the line at returning any favors.’”

“Keeping the Founder on Derna isn’t just a _favor,_ ” Kira said. “And you’ve lost your mind if you think the Federation would deny Bajor membership just because we don’t want to needlessly endanger our people. Which is exactly what you’ve done!”

“I don’t think you fully appreciate the precarious situation we’re—”

Kira leaned forward and glared at Shakaar. “Do I have to remind you that I’m in this situation _with you?_ ”

“Right _or_ wrong,” Damar spoke up, interrupting what was well on its way to becoming another shouting match, “it is done. You can discuss the merits of this choice later. Right now we have to deal with the problem at hand.” He felt incredibly uncomfortable weighing in on an argument between two Bajorans—regarding Bajoran matters, on Bajor, _in the Bajoran First Minister’s office,_ no less. Something he was certain wouldn’t have fazed Dukat even slightly. But the simple fact was that every minute spent debating Shakaar’s actions was another minute they risked losing what little control they still had left over the situation. “Garak is waiting for us—for me, it seems. I intend to see this through, one way or another.” He stood up and looked from one to the other. Was that concern he saw in Kira’s eyes, or just uncertainty? “I’m going up to Derna.”

“That’s just foolish,” Shakaar said. “If even half of what I know of this Garak fellow is true, then you’ll be walking right into a trap.”

“I’m walking into a trap no matter what, unless I run away. I won’t do that again.” In all likelihood Kira would just drag him back anyway.

“ _We_ are going to Derna,” Kira corrected. “Remember, he also wanted me there.” She didn’t move, but Damar felt the gentle brush of her fingers against the side of his leg. For a moment he stared mutely, wondering what would possess him to risk his life when he had everything he wanted and far more than he deserved. But then Kira stood up and her focus shifted back to the dilemma, breaking the spell she had momentarily placed over him. “Besides, I have some answers I want from Garak.”

“That Nelara girl,” Shakaar said. Kira nodded, and Shakaar frowned at her. “Don’t you think that’s a matter best left in the past now?”

Damar realized then that he hadn’t even considered the greater implications of Nelara’s involvement; what it meant, knowing now that Garak had been behind the plot to kill him. Attempts at assassination were hardly impersonal, it was true, but the blow struck against Kira had been deep and cruel. Why was that? What did Garak stand to gain by pulling more dark secrets from her past? The methods didn’t even match up completely when examined from a distance. “It doesn’t make any sense,” Damar muttered.

Shakaar and Kira stopped their conversation and turned to him. “What’s that?” she asked.

“Why send assassins? Why turn your half-sister into an operative? If this was all to lure me to the Founder’s location, to further the culmination of whatever grand scheme he has been concocting, why nearly kill me in the opening act? Why use Nelara, when he seems to have no designs to harm you?”

Kira shrugged. “I think it’s obvious that the bomb on the _Kamogawa_ , at least, was meant as a distraction. But there’s no way to know for sure what Garak intended with any of it, he’s always six steps ahead and working on the next twelve.”

Shakaar seemed baffled by their speculation. “Distraction?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

But Damar understood Kira’s point perfectly; with Garak, it was always best to assume that anything obvious was only a ploy. He explained, “Ilpal told us that the entire Bajoran Militia had been mobilized to search for the two of us. Do you think it’s a coincidence that Garak’s attack on Derna occurred at nearly the same time?”

“Well, not exactly the _entire_ Militia, but I suppose you have a point. In that case, there may be much more to this than we realize. What we know is bad enough, are you sure it’s wise to give in to his demands before you’re sure what you’re facing? Perhaps you should both wait.”

Damar looked to Kira; he could see the determined set of her jaw, the way her body nearly thrummed with the urge to act. She needed the confrontation as much as he needed answers. “I don’t think waiting is an option,” he said.

 

  
“I’m not comfortable with you two doing this alone,” Ilpal sighed. She handed Kira one of her pistols, and held the other up by the handle for Damar to take. “I could come with you.”

Kira shook her head as she slipped the weapon into the holster on her belt. “Garak was pretty insistent about us coming alone. I can only imagine what he’d do if we decided to ignore him. Besides, you’ve already saved us once today.”

Ilpal held her hands palm-up and shrugged.“Well, when you put it like that, I suppose you have a point,” she chuckled. But as quickly as it had come, her humor faded. “I _will_ see you when you get back.”

Kira nodded and gave Ilpal a reassuring smile before boarding the shuttle Shakaar had provided for their short journey. Damar made to follow, but a light tug at his sleeve stopped him. Ilpal leaned in and whispered, “ _Keep her safe_.” Then she turned on her heel and marched from the bay, giving him no opportunity to argue or agree. Not that he would have bothered in either case; despite Garak’s reassurance that Kira, at least, would not be harmed, they had no reason to believe the promise was sincere.

By the time he had closed the hatch and made his way to the cockpit, Kira was already finishing up the pre-departure sequence. They were cleared to leave, and she wasted no time taking the shuttle up on a direct course to the mostly uninhabited moon. As he took his seat beside her, Damar thought back to his orb experience all those many months ago. The visions Captain Sisko had shown him were strange and at times alarming. He had been angry at himself, frightened by the prospect of facing his own mistakes. Frustrated that he couldn’t seem to do anything about them. Sisko, for reasons Damar still couldn’t quite comprehend, had told him that there was a way—but it was only _forward_. Refusing to step back and going on to Derna certainly felt like the most literal fulfillment of those instructions.

But was going forward driving him toward the answer, or into the waiting arms of his own death?

Kira set the shuttle on autopilot and leaned back in her seat. There didn’t seem to be a need for words, and Damar had none to offer anyway. He watched her from the corner of his eye and wondered just how it was that she could feel anything for him, even if it wasn’t the love he wanted. Even the grudging respect she had offered him during the darkest days of his rebellion had come as a shock, and left him wondering how he could have been _so_ blind for _so_ long. Kira had saved him, time and again. With a harsh word or a clever plan, a scathing inventory of all the ways he had failed to live up to whatever it was she saw in him that he couldn’t see in himself; and then, finally, with a surprising tenderness that he never would have expected or dared to ask from her. All willingly given, all offered without any condition he couldn’t easily meet. The least he could do now was ensure her safety, in whatever way possible. If that meant his own life for hers, then so be it.

“I don’t want you to do anything stupid,” she said out of nowhere, once more demonstrating her uncanny ability to predict his behavior. Was he really that transparent?

Damar shifted in his seat and tried to act as though he had no idea what she meant. He braced his hands on the console and cleared his throat. “Why would you say that?” he asked too casually.

“Because I know you.” She reached out and placed a hand atop his. The warmth of her touch made Damar’s throat feel tight, and he gave up his pretense to allow himself a greedy moment staring into her eyes. “And because you really are an idiot,” she added. “You’ve probably convinced yourself that it’s what you’re supposed to do.”

He frowned. “That was uncalled for,” he said, pretending offense. “Although, I suppose I should be pleased to know you’re concerned for my wellbeing. It is a marked improvement.”

Kira’s hand tightened around his and she smiled. “I just want you to stay alive so we can have a talk about those plasma torpedoes you sold to Bajor.”

Damar attempted to tug his hand away from hers. “I thought you wanted me to _avoid_ dying needlessly.”

 

*

 

Their swift approach to Derna left Kira with little opportunity to think, and even less time to come up with some sort of plan. She was good at thinking on her feet, but this wasn’t like fighting the Cardassians or commanding a starship in battle; they were walking into a trap, and they both knew it. They just couldn’t do anything _about it_.

As if to underscore the fact that they had run out of time, a hail came through from the facility on Derna’s surface. Kira accepted the transmission and waited.

 _“Lower your shields and prepare for transport,”_ the voice on the other end commanded.

“Well,” she said with a sigh, “I guess they knew we might come armed.”

“Unless their intention is to scramble my pattern mid-transport,” Damar muttered.

“They’re not going to do that.” When he looked at her skeptically she asked, “Do you really think Garak would pass on the chance to tell you all the sordid details of his plan and why he wants you dead?” She shook her head. “No, this is his big moment. He won’t ruin it for the sake of simplicity. If I were you, I wouldn’t worry until he _stops_ talking.”

“That’s comforting.”

She lowered the shields and removed the pistol Ilpal had given her, setting it on the console. There was no sense in having the weapon destroyed or deactivated by Garak’s people. “We’ll have to stall for time until we can think of some way to stop him. Just do what you’ve been doing since the day I met you.”

He looked at her curiously. “And that is?”

“Argue.”

 

  
A team of Cardassian soldiers met them at the transporter pad, equipped with a small arsenal of weapons, much like their comrades on Bajor had been. Kira fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“You, turn around,” one of them instructed. He held a pair of open restraints in his hand.

“And just why would I do that?” she asked. “Are you worried _one_ Bajoran woman is going to take out a bunch of armed Cardassians?”

“That _was_ the thought, yes,” she heard Garak say from behind the group. The soldiers parted to make way for him as he strolled past, smiling benignly as though he had just happened upon a friendly reunion, rather than a hostage situation. “Please, do as he says, Colonel. I’d hate for you to miss out on your chance to ask all of those questions you’ve no doubt been saving for this very moment.”

Kira hesitated, waiting to see if Garak would force the issue. She knew that he could simply wait out her patience, aware that her limit fell far short of his own, but it was worth a try. Unfortunately Garak seemed to know _exactly_ what she was doing, and he simply watched her with the same cheerful, unblinking stare. Finally she sighed and thrust her arms out in front of her. The soldier quickly latched the restraints in place, and then took her by the arm and pulled her away from Damar’s side. “Only a precaution,” Garak explained.

“ _We trusted you,_ ” Kira hissed under her breath.

Garak turned to her with a bemused smile. “Did you? Well, that was your first mistake.”

They left the transporter room and made their way out into a narrow corridor. The group marched past a shuttlebay door that had been jammed open, and Kira caught sight of a runabout inside. It was the _Potomac_. “Who else is here?” she asked, trying to jam her boots against the ground to get a better look past the open archway.

“A very dear mutual friend,” Garak said, “who has been most helpful in assisting me with my endeavors—despite not realizing the part he played in them, of course. I imagine he’ll be relieved to see you both. It might even prompt him to stop dismantling the room in an attempt to escape.”

They entered a turbolift, leaving roughly half of the Cardassian soldiers behind. Garak remained between Kira and Damar, preventing them from communicating anything to one another. No questions were asked, and no explanations were offered, making the whole ordeal as silent as it was uncomfortable. When the turbolift came to a stop they exited into another small hallway, which eventually ended abruptly at a door riddled with security seals.

While the others removed the locks, Garak clasped his hands in front of his waist and waited. “You see, once the good Doctor Bashir had fulfilled his purpose, I lured him here, where he has remained thanks to the architectural ingenuity of our Romulan friends. It was as much for his safety as it was for the security of my plans, I assure you,” he added, as if the purpose behind his betrayal somehow redeemed the act.

“Why Bashir?” Kira asked.

“Much like yourself, he simply refused to leave well enough alone, and I was obliged to give him what he wanted.” With a mischievous gleam in his eye, Garak leaned in close and said, “Think of it this way, my dear, at least you’ll have someone to chat with on the journey home.”

The locks disengaged and the door opened onto a small room. Facing them from the other side was a holding cell containing nothing but a pedestal and a small, empty container atop it. One of the Cardassian soldiers entered before the others and was almost immediately set upon by Julian, who slammed into him from the side with the flat end of a detached wall panel. Two more men intervened, tackling Julian before he could regroup and attack again. By the time they had him pinned on his chest with his arms behind his back, he had finally caught sight of Garak standing between Kira and Damar.

“ _Garak?!_ ” he exclaimed breathlessly. “But—” his astonished stare shifted first to Damar, and then over to Kira, before he looked down at her bound wrists. “Of course,” he muttered, letting his forehead drop to the floor. “Why didn’t I see it before.”

“Hello, Doctor,” Garak greeted cheerfully. He nodded to the soldiers restraining Julian and they lifted him up onto his feet. “I apologize for the harsh treatment, but I simply cannot allow you to bludgeon my comrades here into a stupor. I’m sure you understand.”

“I understand that you’ve betrayed us all, and now you’re poised to kill millions—perhaps even _billions,_  just to settle a grudge,” Julian snarled back at him.

“A grudge? Really, Doctor, is that what you think this is about? I’m disappointed by your myopia. Would you feel the attempted extermination of one’s species might warrant a mere _grudge?_ No, of course not. This is about _justice_.” Several of the soldiers surrounding them nodded in agreement, muttering their approval.

At least that explained just _how_ Garak had managed to recruit so many people willing to do his dirty work for him. Kira glanced at Damar from the corner of her eye; he was staring at the closest Cardassians, his jaw clenched tight in fury.

Julian, meanwhile, didn’t seem at all satisfied by the explanation Garak had offered. He tried to pull himself away from the soldiers, but they held him firmly in place. “The Founder has been tried and imprisoned, Garak. _That_ is justice,” he grunted as he made one last attempt to break free. “What you’re doing is just… vigilantism. It’s petty revenge.”

“Ah,” Garak beamed, “but that loathsome creature in the holding cell isn’t the _only_ villain in this room, is she? As I said, my dear Doctor, this is about far more than you may believe. But I promise you, it will all become clear shortly.” He stepped away from Julian and instructed the men to deposit both the doctor and Kira in one of the empty holding cells.

When the first of the soldiers approached to take her by the arm, Kira slammed her head into his, striking him just above the eye on one of his ocular ridges. The backlash of pain she suffered was intense, but nothing compared to the agony it seemed to cause the soldier, who dropped to the ground clutching his head and howling in pain. Two of his comrades lifted him to his feet and pulled him from the room, leaving the others to wrestle Kira into the cell.

“I’d advise keeping the Colonel well in hand, lest you end up like our friend outside,” Garak noted to the remaining soldiers.

By the time they finally managed to corral her into the small space alongside Julian, Kira was so furious that she nearly hurled herself against the force field. “You have no right to appoint yourself judge and jury!” she shouted. “You don’t speak for everyone else!”

“Please, don’t mistake my intentions. This isn’t about anyone else. This is purely for my own satisfaction.” Garak turned to the last of the soldiers and tilted his head in the direction of the door. “Wait for me outside,” he said. “Tell the others to make sure the runabout in the hangar is completely disabled, and instruct our friends in the control room to release the first lock on the shapeshifter’s cell.” He withdrew a disruptor from his waistband and pointed it at Damar. “Please, move over by the Founder. That way I can keep an eye on you both.”

Damar turned and looked over his shoulder at the container on the pedestal. “There’s nothing in there.”

Garak sighed. “If you would be so kind as to take on a more appropriate form for the situation, I would be extremely appreciative,” he said, addressing his comments to the seemingly empty space behind Damar.

The container and pedestal immediately began to ripple, shimmering gold for only the time it took to elongate into a humanoid form. The founder solidified herself quickly and spread her hands out wide. “So, it’s you who has caused all of this chaos. I must admit I had hoped it would be someone more interesting. Embittered Breen, perhaps.” When Garak bowed slightly her gaze shifted to the back of Damar’s head, and her voice became flat and dangerous as she observed, “Well, well, it seems we meet again.”

Damar looked back at the Founder and nodded once. “Unfortunate that we’re both going to die for this… reunion,” he muttered.

“Yes, that does appear to be the case.” She looked to Garak and asked, “As I believe it to be the custom among solids, may I make a final request?”

Garak chuckled. “Allow me to guess:  _‘kill Damar first,’_ correct?”

Damar rolled his eyes. “Enough of these games! What do you hope to accomplish with this vengeance of yours, Garak? Wishing to see the Founder punished for Cardassia’s suffering isn’t unreasonable—I may even share your desire to make her truly pay for what she’s done—but killing her will only guarantee the total destruction of the Union, along with the rest of the Alpha Quadrant. Everything we fought for will be torn down again.”

“What I fought for was destroyed long before the Dominion began its genocidal rampage in those final hours, Damar, make no mistake about that,” Garak said.

“But we’re _rebuilding,_ don’t you see that? The Cardassian Union hasn’t been destroyed. This is what we both fought for!”

Garak began to laugh, and even the Founder seemed puzzled by his sudden outburst. All the while he kept the disruptor aimed at the center of Damar’s chest. “You really don’t understand, do you?” he asked between bouts of chuckling. “This has nothing to do with your _sweeping reforms_ or your frankly embarrassing mishandling of political discourse; this is about the crimes for which you have yet to atone. I am merely providing you with the opportunity to do so.” He shrugged and gestured to the Founder. “As well as eliminating the greatest enemy to Cardassia and the Alpha Quadrant in the meantime. I must admit, while my original intentions were simply to kill you, when the opportunity to uncover the Founder’s whereabouts presented itself, I was almost _pleased_ you had somehow managed to survive.”

“If you want to execute me for Ziyal’s murder, then say so. Don’t be vague,” Damar snapped. He seemed to have run out of what little patience he had for discussion.

Garak stopped smiling. “You’re right, of course. That is precisely what I intend to do.”

“But why now?” Julian asked, sweeping in to pick up Damar’s slack. “You were alone with him for _months_ on Cardassia Prime. Why seek your revenge so long after the fact?”

“Ah, but have you forgotten? The great Damar _died_ in service of the Cardassian Union, as any good legend should! Of course, for some time after the war I would still encounter the occasional rumor; manifestations of the people’s wistful hope that their brave and noble savior would return to lead the Union into a glorious new era of prosperity. And I could forgive those desires. After all, Damar had paid his penance, hadn’t he? Or so we all believed. But then I started to hear more credible whispers. Passing tales laced with information too specific to be mere wishful thinking. And you see, my friend,” Garak continued, turning back to Damar, “while I could set aside what I knew to be your rightful punishment in the name of saving our homeworld, it is simply _rude_ for you to resurrect yourself and walk away from your crimes no worse for wear. I’m afraid I will not allow it.”

“Do you really think this is what Ziyal would have wanted?” Julian asked.

Garak seemed to think about that for a moment, and then he cocked his head to the side and said, “No.” He held his arm out straight and took aim at Damar. “But then, she isn’t here to object, is she?”

“Why my sister?!” Kira demanded, shouting the first thing she could think of to stall Garak and save Damar. It wasn’t the passionate speech she had planned in her head the moment she realized Garak was behind everything, but it would have to do.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nelara,” she said, grinding out the name between clenched teeth.

Garak lowered the disruptor, but not enough to give Damar an opening he could actually use. He looked over at Julian. “It’s true,” Julian said. “A colleague of mine uncovered the truth while scanning a sample of her blood. She is the colonel’s half-sibling.”

“Well, that is quite an astounding coincidence, I admit, but I fail to see what it has to do with me.”

“You really expect me to believe you didn’t know who she was?” Kira asked bitterly, “That you just happened to stumble across her? How stupid do you think I am, Garak?”

Whatever discomfort or chagrin the news may have caused him, Garak quickly shook it off. He lifted his chin to look down his nose at her in clear disapproval. “Well, let us examine the evidence, shall we? I have never been one to judge another’s preferences—after all, who am I to question tastes of _any_ kind. But really, Colonel; you, a woman of such powerful convictions, of such incredible passion for justice, and _this_ is who you’ve chosen to share your bed?” he asked, waving the disruptor at Damar. “Odo and I may have had our differences at times, but I considered him a dear friend regardless, and I can only imagine the pain it would bring him to see the depths you’ve plumbed in search of comfort.”

Damar started to step forward. “How dare you—”

Garak quickly raised the disruptor again. “Ah-ah. No heroics, if you don’t mind. I’ve had quite enough of your grand romantic gestures for one lifetime. Or two, in your case. While I accept that there really is no accounting for taste, even you must have acknowledged at some point that the colonel is leagues beyond anything a man like you deserves.”

“I know that,” Damar said without hesitation. “I’ve known that from the very first moment. And I know my crimes, as well. I don’t need you to remind me of them. So kill me if you have to, but leave everyone else out of this.”

“What a charming, if somewhat misguided appeal. As I said before, I have no intention of causing either the colonel or the doctor any harm.”

“Then spare the Founder.”

Kira turned her attention from Damar to the Founder, who only watched the back of Damar’s head with a blank, unreadable stare.

“Now, that’s interesting. Why beg for her life?” Garak asked. He seemed wary of Damar’s sudden change of heart, and his eyes narrowed as he anxiously peered over the barrel of his weapon. “What do you hope to gain from that request? If it’s mercy you want—”

Damar shook his head. “You say you have no intention of harming anyone else in this room, but that isn’t true. If you kill the Founder today, you will set the Dominion upon every man, woman, and child in the Alpha Quadrant. You will ignite another war and there will be no end to the slaughter.”

“Yes,” Garak sighed, as if disappointed by the answer, “you’ve mentioned that before. And I have considered the possibility. But it’s a risk I’ve decided I am willing to take. After all, her very existence is a threat to the Alpha Quadrant, isn’t it? The never-ending need to keep her secure, to protect her from both assassination and attempts at rescue. I wasn’t lying when I told those generals that I was here to help Bajor, you know; I am going to relieve them of the burden placed upon their shoulders by the Federation,” he declared proudly. “Speaking of which, shall we wrap this up? I’d like to be on my way before your allies arrive.”

They were out of time, and Garak seemed to be tiring of their efforts to stall him. Kira’s heart was practically throwing itself against her chest. She was powerless to do anything, bound and locked behind a force field while Garak prepared to carry out his final act of vengeance right in front of her.

Damar lifted his chin and stood up straight. He put his hands behind his back and turned to look at her. There was something in his eyes that Kira couldn’t read; something meant for her, but not what she expected. Was it guilt? A sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach told her he was about to do something incredibly foolish, and there was _nothing_ she could do to stop it.

“Garak, don’t do this,” Julian implored. “It won’t change anything.”

“Oh, I believe it will change a great deal. I’m very sorry, Doctor. I know how much you detest violence.”

In the tense silence that filled the room they heard a low, warbled beep. The bright green frame of the Romulan force field blinked once, and the twin panes of energy holding the Founder in dissipated with a shimmer of static. Garak’s eyes widened, but before he could react a rush of fluid gold shot from the open cell, enveloping the space in the center of the room and concealing the two Cardassians behind the bulk of the Founder’s mass.

Kira threw her palms against the force field, but Julian reached out to pull her away. “There is nothing _either_ of us can do now,” he said.


	8. Chapter 8

Although he was almost certain Kira wouldn’t continue to hurl herself against the force field in a futile attempt to rescue Damar, Julian had no intention of letting her go just yet. Not until they knew exactly what had happened, and whether or not it spelled danger for the two of them, as well. He had previously taken the Founder at her word, and trusted her when she was trapped in a cell with ample cause to cooperate, but now she was free. Now _they_ were the prisoners, and for all either of them knew, Damar and Garak were both dead.

He reached out to unlock Kira’s restraints and tossed them aside. “We have to wait,” he said as quietly as possible. There was no telling what an unrestrained, experienced Changeling might do when given free rein to take vengeance on her enemies. It was a far cry from testing security drills with Odo.

“We can’t just stand here and do nothing!” Kira hissed.

Julian didn’t answer, knowing there was nothing he could say that would improve the situation. If the Founder did indeed intend to kill the others, then it was already too late. And if she didn’t… Frankly, Julian couldn’t imagine what might possibly compel her _not_ to, given her history with both men. Damar had to have understood that; he must have released the Founder knowing that it was possible he would die in the process. In making that sacrifice he had almost certainly saved the Alpha Quadrant from another war—a selfless act that was unlikely to bring Kira any comfort. Damar was important to her, the events of the past year had more than demonstrated that much. Regardless of what else had come between them, Kira’s feelings for him were abundantly clear, at least from the outside. He didn't envy her in that moment of uncertainty.

While they waited for some sign of the Founder’s intentions, or the fate of Garak and Damar, Julian thought of how many times he had questioned the Federation’s choice to sponsor the new Cardassian administration. How often he had caught himself wondering whether or not Damar had within him the conviction necessary to carry out the rebuilding of the Cardassian Union. Could he turn his people away from the long-standing tradition of sustaining their empire through conquest? Could he truly inspire that kind of change in a people so determined to cling to their old ways, their comfortable familiarity? Despite the undeniable impact his first change of heart had on the effort to defeat the Dominion, he _had_ done terrible things, the consequences of which Julian himself had borne witness to several times. Yet at each and every turn following his resurrection, Damar had only surprised him, and continued to surpass Julian’s admittedly low initial expectations. Now, faced with few options, it seemed that this final test of character had answered those questions once and for all; Julian only hoped it wasn’t to be the his final act. If not only for Kira’s sake, then for that of the good he might do in the future.

Eventually, following nearly a full minute of anxious silence, the Founder began to shift; her mass started retracting, pulling away from the walls and ceiling. She shifted into a smaller form, remaining fluid throughout as she expelled first the disruptor, and then Damar—or was it Damar’s body, he wondered. Julian released Kira, and they both rushed to the front of the holding cell.

“Damar!” Kira shouted, attempting to gain his attention.

He was lying on his back, both arms drawn up around his head to form a protective barrier. When he heard Kira’s voice he lifted his hands away and craned his neck back to look at her. “I’m alive,” he said, as though he hadn’t expected to be.

Kira sighed with relief as she looked down on him. “You’re alive,” she confirmed.

“ _As is this one,_ ” they heard the disembodied voice of the Founder speak to them from no discernible location. She shifted smaller still, and out fell Garak, landing on the floor in a heap. He was unconscious, but clearly breathing.

Damar wasted no time struggling to his feet and shutting off the force field to free them. Julian quickly secured the disruptor and hurried to Garak’s side. After confirming that the Founder had been honest, and that Garak was unharmed, he turned around to find Kira and Damar holding one another in a tight embrace. Clearing his throat, he chuckled and said, “Do forgive me for ruining the moment, but perhaps we should reclaim the rest of the facility _before_ we celebrate?”

The Founder, having returned to her customary humanoid form, suddenly shifted into a remarkable facsimile of Garak. She lifted the corners of her mouth into a hollow smile, and it was somehow even more unnerving than when Garak did it. “Please,” she said cheerfully, “allow me.”

 

  
“And you say that she willingly returned to custody after you had taken control of the facility?” the captain asked.

“Yes, sir,” Julian nodded. “I believe she saw it as her duty to the arrangement made between the Federation and the Dominion following the war. Strange as it sounds, I think she was almost relieved to be done with the whole affair. She was already in the containment unit when Director Emrol and his men arrived to secure her.”

“Well,” Sisko said, setting the padd containing Julian’s after-action report on his desk, “that’s good to hear. There was some concern from Starfleet Command that we would have a much bigger problem on our hands, but it seems you and Colonel Kira were able to handle things without much trouble at all. And I’m pleased to see you brought back _one_ of my runabouts, at least.” He turned to Kira. “We recovered the wreckage of the _Kamogawa_. Analysis showed the explosive device was probably only intended to damage the vessel and force a landing—rather than blowing it up completely. It was rigged to go off at a specific altitude. Seems Mister Garak was honest about not wanting to cause you any harm.”

Kira frowned. “But only me. He knew I’d be in the cockpit. I don’t think he cared much what happened to Damar or Ilpal.”

“Given his designs on the legate’s life, I’d say that’s a fair assumption.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, sir,” Julian said, “what will happen to Garak?”

Sisko took a deep breath and let it out as a low, rumbling sigh. “Unfortunately, there isn’t much I can do for him now. And there’s only so much his efforts during the war can buy him in terms of leniency. He’s made some bad calls, and although no one was seriously hurt, he’s going to have to answer for the crimes he’s committed. Just,” he added in a more meaningful tone, “as his accomplices have.”

He meant Nelara, of course. Kira looked off to the side and nodded. She must have understood that there was no other answer for what had been done, and those responsible would have to be punished accordingly. Julian thought of what she had shared with him of their visit to the detention facility. It wasn’t ideal, clearly, but it was certainly better than the alternatives. With any luck, Nelara would be able to move on from her experiences, and find some sort of normalcy in her life. She had to have been someone before Garak had taken her under his wing. Something more than an assassin.

“If I may, could I speak to Garak before he’s transferred to the custody of Starfleet Security?” Julian asked.

The captain cocked one eyebrow. “Can I ask why, Doctor?”

“It’s just that I feel as though there is more to this than what he’s told us. How did he manage to find and recruit so many disillusioned Cardassian citizens, and why did they remain so unwaveringly loyal, even after they were captured? Why keep Nelara at Damar’s side if she failed in her task to assassinate him? I understand Garak explained a great deal of his operations to us on Derna, but I think we’ve overlooked something; a detail he didn’t share before. I knew Garak better than perhaps anyone else aboard the station. I believe he’ll tell me if I ask him.”

Sisko folded his hands in his lap. After a moment he nodded. “Alright. But keep him _calm,_ Doctor. He’s already prompted two of my officers to request new assignments just so they don’t have to _listen_ to him anymore.”

“Understood, sir.” Julian rose from his chair and swept past Kira, headed for the exit from the captain's ready room. The last he heard before the doors shut behind him was Kira, saying quietly, “It’s hard to believe it’s over.”

He was already well into the corridor by the time he got around to really thinking about what she’d said. Was it actually over? Knowing Garak, there was much more to the story than a simple revenge-driven takeover. Garak was rarely so transparent.

He entered the turbolift and instructed the computer to take him to the _Defiant’s_ brig. If he was wrong, and Garak’s plan had been successfully foiled, then all he would accomplish was providing an old friend with a little distraction during the journey back to the station. And Garak _was_ his friend, whatever else he had done. Julian wanted to feel as if his actions were truly unforgivable, but the sad truth of the matter was that attempting to kill Damar to avenge Ziyal was far from the most egregious offense he had ever committed. And it was perhaps the most understandable.

It had been eight hours since the _Defiant_ had departed Derna. After placing the Founder’s containment unit in a stasis field in Sickbay, Julian had returned to the surface to ensure that all of the facility’s staff had been properly cared for before returning to the _Defiant_. Garak’s comrades were placed into the custody of Bajoran authorities following the discovery that at least a third of them had come to Bajor using the labor exchange program—a matter Julian found particularly offensive, and one he would certainly be bringing up with Garak at some point.

“I’d like a few minutes alone with him,” Julian said to the lieutenant manning the security console.

Garak perked up upon seeing him. He was sitting on the bench in the cell with both hands flat on his thighs. An empty tray sat on the seat next to him. “Ah, my dear Doctor Bashir! I had hoped you would stop by before we reached our destination,” he said. “I wanted to extend my sincerest apologies for that unfortunate business earlier.”

“You mean taking over a heavily armed facility, imprisoning me, attempting to kill Damar and the Founder?”

“Well, not all of it,” Garak said, “but I know how much you abhor violence, and I wanted you to know that I did feel rather guilty about tricking you into that room. You are my dearest friend, after all. The last thing I would want is to harm our relationship.”

“Garak! You tried to start a second war with the Dominion! Do you really think I care about you fooling me into entering a locked room after that?”

“So you’re not angry with me, then?” Garak asked.

Julian rolled his eyes and laughed through a sigh. He was the same old Garak, after all. A straight answer simply wouldn’t do. Sensing that this would be a more trying conversation than he initially predicted, Julian steeled himself for the undoubtedly vague reply he would receive and said, “Garak, I’d like for you to tell me what else you had planned.” He paused for a moment to see if Garak would say anything, but it seemed as though the onus was on him to provide incentive to share. “I may have to admit I don’t know you as well as I’d like to believe—after all, who could have predicted the lengths you’ve gone to for all of this. But I refuse to accept that we witnessed the limits of your creativity on Derna.”

He waited, watching Garak as his eyes alternately widened and narrowed, and his face went through several fine changes before he eventually settled on what appeared to be an almost proud grin. “You really are very clever,” Garak said.

“So I keep hearing.”

Garak leaned back on the bench and folded his hands in his lap. He seemed far more relaxed than Julian might have expected from someone in his position, facing what could turn out to be a hefty prison sentence. “I gather as one of Damar’s doctors, you’ve been keeping track of his health—as any good physician would, of course. Tell me, Doctor, have you encountered any unexplained symptoms during that time? Things… popping up, which don’t seem to be connected to his previous injuries?”

Julian started to shake his head, but then he remembered his conversation with Damar in Sickbay following their trip to Orias III. “The dizziness.”

“Indeed. That would be the work of our mutual friend, Nelara. Her true purpose on Cardassia. While I’m sure you assumed that Damar’s unsteadiness was merely related to his injury—and subsequent poisoning—on Bajor, I’m afraid that particular side effect was the sign of something much more sinister, albeit slower to take effect. And,” Garak added after a pause, “absent a catalyst which would render it lethal.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t, Doctor. You see, because I knew I would have to take your presence into account, I instructed my associates to make sure this catalyst was entirely undetectable. After all, with such gifts as yours, one can never be too careful when lacing a facility’s air supply with a foreign substance. None of you were aware that you were breathing it in the whole time you were on Derna. Oh, it’s not at all harmful to you or Colonel Kira,” he said quickly. “I assure you, any of it that you did manage to breathe in will simply be absorbed and expelled as naturally as anything else. I may have also led some of my less trustworthy compatriots to believe that they had been secretly ingesting the primary mixture in order to guarantee their silence. Damar, however…”

“Took a full dose. Inhaling the catalyst would kill him,” Julian finished for him.

Garak nodded and smiled. “I expect he’ll be noticing the effects shortly. In which case, you may wish to cut our little chat short, and return to Sickbay.”

“Garak.”

“Yes?”

“My colleague, Doctor Tastha, has already removed that compound from Damar’s system.” Julian found it remarkably strange that he actually felt a little _guilty_ for accidentally ruining Garak’s scheme. “When I learned that he had been hiding his dizziness from us, I ran some additional tests. Doctor Tastha had already suspected something was wrong, and when she confronted him back at the station he grudgingly admitted to her that he had been feeling unwell for several months. We were able to trace the problem back to the fluids Nelara had been giving him. Mostly water, as it turns out. We simply believed that she had failed to kill him as intended.”

Garak’s smile fell and he puffed out a short sigh. “I see. Well, I suppose I ought to have simply shot him when I had the chance, in that case.”

“You might have had better results,” Julian said. He made little effort to hide a small smile at Garak’s expense. It really was quite a coincidence that they had managed to preemptively save Damar’s life without even meaning to.

“Please,” Garak complained, holding his hand out as if to ward off Julian’s humor. “If you’re only going to mock my failures, I’d rather you at least waited until _after_ I’m tried and sentenced.”

“I wouldn’t be too hard on yourself. After all, it seems to me that’s one of the few possibilities you _didn’t_ take into account.” Stranger still than his misplaced guilt, Julian was rather impressed by the sheer extent of the web Garak had managed to weave around Damar. A mere mistake had cost him his victory, and it hadn’t been the result of carelessness or ego, but rather a simple oversight. “There’s something else bothering me,” he continued. “You claimed to know nothing of Nelara and Kira’s connection to one another. That you simply recruited her randomly, and it was only a coincidence that she happened to be who she was. I know the colonel, at least, still believes you’re lying about that.”

“And what of you?” Garak asked. “Do you think I would knowingly prey upon the unknown half-sibling of a dear friend, just to prove a point?”

“Honestly?” Julian waited for Garak to nod. “Yes. I believe you’re more than capable of something like that, and I think you would actually find it _insulting_ if I claimed otherwise.” He ignored Garak’s coy smile. “But I can’t imagine you would willingly put another of Dukat’s illegitimate daughters in harm’s way, just to avenge the first.”

Garak started to object, but then he froze. Looking up at Julian with uncharacteristic surprise, he whispered, “What did you say?”

“Perhaps ‘illegitimate’ isn’t the most polite term, but I know that by Cardassian cultural standards—”

“No, Doctor. Not that. I meant the part about _Dukat_.”

Julian watched him; his obvious distress, his troubled stare as he waited to hear again what had so rattled him the first time. It was clear then that he really _hadn’t_ known. Julian debated whether or not it was his place to share the whole truth of Nelara’s origins, but it was too late to take back the information now. Garak was no fool. “Nelara is the daughter of Gul Dukat and Kira Meru,” he said.

Garak shook his head and looked away uncomfortably. Strange, Julian thought, that an actual loss hadn’t been enough to so thoroughly defeat him, but realizing what he might have done troubled him so. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m…” Garak looked up again. “Are you sure?”

“We tested her again once she was taken into custody, just to be certain. There is no doubt she’s one of Dukat’s children.”

“I must be honest with you, Doctor. This goes beyond a mere unfortunate coincidence. Had I known—”

“You wouldn’t have used her to get close to Damar, or placed her in danger,” Julian said. “I’ll inform the colonel that you were telling the truth earlier. I can’t guarantee that she’ll believe it any more than she did when you said it, but I can do that much for you.”

“Please,” Garak added, “offer her my most sincere apologies. And...”

“Nelara, as well.”

He nodded. “Though I doubt it will make much of a difference to either of them.”

“But it’s the right thing to do.” Julian leaned back against the console and crossed his arms. “You know, Garak, this whole clandestine operation was quite a feat. And I’m sure at times it felt a great deal like the old days of the Obsidian Order, but it strikes me as an awful waste of your talents.”

Still stunned into silence by the prior revelation, Garak looked up and narrowed his eyes curiously.

“Think about it,” Julian said. He pushed himself away from the console and moved closer to the cell. “You managed to infiltrate Damar’s new government, expose its flaws, incapacitate the head of his personal security, and utilize a host of salvaged Dominion materials to exact your revenge. You were operating from quite literally right underneath Damar’s nose for most of that time. You anticipated every move, and nearly every stumbling block that might come between you and your objective. Each time the situation changed, you adapted to make the new parameters work _for_ you, rather than against. Quite frankly, your only real mistake was not realizing that Damar would be willing to give his life to stop you.”

“A surprise, to be sure.”

Julian shook his head. “Think of all you might have accomplished in that time had you been focused on helping your people, rather than eliminating one man.”

“In my defense,” Garak said, regaining some of his normal self-assurance, “eliminating one man, as you put it, _is_ how I intended to help my people.”

“Do you really believe Damar is _that bad_ for Cardassia?” Julian asked.

“Even _if_ I were to find some way of setting aside my desire to make him pay for Ziyal’s death, I find it difficult to place that much faith in a man who stood at Gul Dukat’s side and helped hand our people over to the Dominion. A man whose inaction was instrumental in the eventual attempt to destroy everything I loved most before his own _guilty conscience_ drove him to switch sides.”

“And yet you aided his rebellion.”

“I did what was best for Cardassia,” Garak explained. “If you recall, I once stood side-by-side with Dukat, as well. And I had rather good reasons to want him dead at the time.”

Julian nodded, conceding the point with a gesture of surrender. “Well, in any case, I don’t see a reason we should dwell on these things now. We’ll have plenty of time to discuss the finer points later.”

Garak chuckled. “I’m afraid you have a far more optimistic view of my future circumstances than I do, Doctor.”

“Not at all. You see, I have quite a bit of leave saved up, as it turns out. And as Miles has very politely reminded me, I have made several promises to visit Earth. Which,” he added, holding up a finger, “as it so happens, is where you’ll be headed for your trial. I may as well accompany you, don’t you think?”

As ever, Garak’s smile was only a mask, hiding his true thoughts behind a cheerful facade. But for perhaps the first time ever, Julian was certain he could see straight through the charming veneer. For Garak, the prospect of having his motives poked and prodded for several weeks on end was no more appealing than being left alone in a cell with no one to talk to.

“Why, I can think of no greater pleasure,” Garak said, tipping his head in Julian’s direction.

 

 

 

**Epilogue**

 

Damar felt Kira stirring beside him, and from beneath the blanket—which she had managed to wrap around herself several times, sparing him none—she mumbled, “ _Lights_.”

The small cabin was suddenly bathed in simulated daylight, making Damar blink and squint in discomfort as he stared at the dark space beneath the crook of his arm. Kira moved again, and her arm came over his side as she leaned against him and asked, “Did you sleep well?”

“I spent the last seven hours clinging to the edge of your bed. So no.”

She shifted away, no doubt realizing that she had claimed three-quarters of the bed’s surface, and then made a small, surprised noise. “Sorry.”

When she had moved enough that he finally had space to lie on his back, he rolled over and turned to her. They were crammed together on a ridiculously tiny bed, in her quarters aboard the _Defiant_. One of only three rooms with such accommodations, apparently. After the second sleepless hour, Damar had found himself wishing that all the cabins came with individual, double bunks. At least then he might have managed to get some sleep.

Kira sat up and stretched, and Damar watched her until she settled back down beside him again. He tried not to think about his impending return to Cardassia. After learning of the means by which Garak had built his forces, and the existence of factions within the Cardassian population which would like nothing more than to see the latest government toppled like all the others, he couldn’t allow himself the time he wanted to linger on the station. A day, perhaps. Maybe less. There was simply too much work to be done, too many matters to address. “I knew there were always going to be some who blamed me for my part in selling our people to the Dominion, but…” He shook his head.

“Blaming you for turning on the Dominion, for Lakarian City and the destruction that followed, it’s unsettling,” Kira finished for him. “I understand.” She had been the one to provide him with a full report of what the Bajoran Militia had learned from the scarred soldier and his companions. After receiving word of Garak’s defeat, it seemed they had quickly gone from implacable to very eager to share what they knew in exchange for possible leniency.

 _Unsettling_ was one way to describe it. Damar had expected that their reasons would have been much the same as Garak’s. As it turned out, the truth had been a great deal more disturbing: the real reason behind their willingness to betray their own people had been so shocking that at first Damar had refused to believe it. Now, after several hours spent dwelling on the subject in the silence of Kira’s cabin, he simply found it left him with a deep sense of disappointment. “They would rather I had stayed the course,” he said bitterly. "Remained loyal to the Dominion, in the hopes that they might have upheld their part of the original agreement." An agreement Weyoun and the Founder had all but revoked long before Damar even considered rebelling.

“There were a lot of Bajorans who thought the resistance was only causing trouble. That we should have learned to live with the Cardassians, instead of constantly fighting them.” Kira leaned down over him with one arm on his chest, her palm flat on his sternum. “Usually those people are the ones who don’t have as much to lose as the rest. It’s not that they’re evil, or they necessarily agree with what’s happening. They just don’t understand that oppression hurts everyone in the end.”

“And now they want me dead for it,” Damar said with a frown.

“I’m sure most of them don’t. But in any group you’ll find a few who are willing to take up arms to defend their right to remain detached from reality. With or without Garak’s influence, I’m sure you would have seen some sign of their presence eventually.”

There had been complaints; citizens holding protests and demonstrations, taking their grievances to the local government representatives. At first Damar had seen it as a positive sign, an indication of the changing Cardassia. The people weren’t afraid to tell their leaders that they were dissatisfied with the state of things. But if they were so angry that they would kill, and so fervently bent on carrying out Garak’s plans that they would remain silent under interrogation… If that was the case, were they really any better off than they had been before?

“It isn’t because of _you,_ ” Kira said, correctly reading his silence. She cupped her hand beneath his jaw and turned his face toward hers. “They would have found a reason. People who are angry _and_ violent don’t need a lot of incentive to lash out. Garak just focused that rage for his own purposes. If anything, he might have kept them from causing more damage than they would have if they’d been left to act on their own.”

“I wish I could believe that. And I wish I could believe that Garak won’t simply wait out his sentence and then come back to finish what he started.” He rolled away again, and Kira’s fingers left a trail of warmth as they slipped over his skin. He heard her sigh and then felt her tuck herself in next to him.

“Give him a little more credit than that,” she said against his back.

“You are talking about the man who just tried to kill me. I’m not sure offering him the benefit of the doubt is my wisest course of action.” He didn’t bother to mention that he was upset by Garak’s betrayal; it seemed beside the point, and even a bit silly to be so wounded by the actions of someone he had once trusted with his life. After all, they weren’t _really_ comrades. Garak had accompanied Kira out of loyalty to her and his own duty to Cardassia. It could have been anyone, and he would have stood shoulder-to-shoulder with them just the same.

“Garak is angry,” Kira said. “And I can’t say I blame him. Maybe,” she added quickly when Damar started to object, “some of it is a little misplaced. But some of it isn’t, and you know that.”

The hard lump that had taken up residence in Damar’s throat suddenly reminded him it was there, and apparently had no intention of leaving. “Ziyal.”

“Do you blame him for refusing to forgive you?”

Damar shook his head. “No more than I blame you,” he said quietly. “That wasn’t why I tried to stop him.”

“Speaking of that,” Kira said, rising from the bed to loom over him. She planted her hands on either side of his head. “That was a pretty heroic move you pulled back there. How did you know the Founder wouldn’t kill you?”

He was briefly lost in the desire to reach up and pull her down into his arms. Seeing her expectant stare, he quickly snapped out of it and said, “I didn’t. But you already knew that.”

What she didn't know, and what Damar wasn't sure he could ever find the words to share, was what the Founder had told him before she let him go. The real reason he was still alive. At first he hadn't been sure it wasn't an invention of his own mind; a moment he imagined in his panic-stricken struggle to stay alive within that living fluid. Time and silence had allowed him to put things in order and realize that wasn't the case. He knew why he had been permitted to live, and it left him uneasy.

Kira watched him as if she knew his concerns, and the way she stared into his eyes made him feel uncomfortably exposed. More so than lying naked in her bed, with her body pressed against his. Having jumped so quickly from the previous topic, he wondered if perhaps she also found it difficult to speak of those things in such an intimate setting.

Finally, after what had started to become an uncomfortable amount of time, she said, “Don’t do anything like that again.”

Damar shook his head. “I won’t.”

Apparently satisfied, she smiled and gently dropped back down onto her “half” of the bed. She left one arm draped over him, and he was in no great rush to complain. “Can I ask you something?” he said after a few minutes.

Kira shifted again and he felt her draw in a deep breath. “Go ahead.”

“I understand that you don’t feel as… strongly… as I do,” he began, careful to choose his words wisely. It wasn’t his intention to press the issue, but there was a matter left unaddressed between them, and he needed answers. For his own peace of mind. “And you said you weren’t sure that you ever would.”

“I remember that.” She suddenly sat up and left the bed. Her uniform had been left draped over a nearby chair, and she retrieved it while she waited for him to continue.

“What I’d like to know is whether or not you _want_ to,” he asked, now sitting up on one elbow as he watched her pull on the tight red fabric. “Why are you getting dressed now?”

“Because I have to be on duty in twelve minutes,” she said, slipping on her boots. “And as for your other question…” She stopped dressing and turned to him. Her hair was still a mess, and she hadn’t yet donned the jacket that covered the white, sleeveless top of her uniform. She sighed, and Damar felt his hopes wither with the quiet sound as she shrugged halfheartedly.

He rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. “We should reach the station soon. I imagine you won’t have much time for goodbyes before my departure. So—”

Her shadow was the only warning he received of her quiet approach. She bent down and placed a kiss on his cheek, just below the curved taper of his ocular ridge. “I _think_ I want to,” she said. The warmth of her words carried over his skin and made him shiver, despite the sudden flush that heated the rest of him. “But I can’t say where my path goes.” She stepped back again and looked down on him with a kinder smile than he knew he deserved. “So we’ll just have to wait and see.”

When she left his side and reached for her jacket, Damar rolled over until he was nearly hanging off the side of the bed. “Dinner, before I leave,” he said quickly. He hesitated, adding, “Please. I promise I’ll remember this time.”

“I’d like that,” she said.

“Wear the green dress.”

Halfway through the door, she looked back and smiled. “Only if you wear the red jacket.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the time and kind comments you've given me while I worked on this series. I want to thank all of my friends who have helped me throughout the two years I've spent writing these stories.


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